


A Lion at the Door

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Working Girl Brienne! [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actor!Jaime, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Hair Salon, Hairstylist!Brienne, Lactation Kink, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnant Sex, Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Who am I kidding this baby is just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Golden boy Jaime Lannister wants his famous locks chopped and done. Brienne's decision may either doom her career as a hairstylist. . .or give her the success she has always dreamed about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeleneU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneU/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. Thanks for reading.
> 
> If you want to read more of the series, you'll have to log in on AO3. Fics dedicated to people will remain public but the rest are set to private. 
> 
> Thank you.

Brienne’s back hurt. The holidays was the busiest time of the year but things were more insane this year, she was sure. She had been on her feet all day, rallying her employees towards the final, crucial push until the last client was out of the door. One or two would be calling in sick tomorrow, she was sure. Despite this certainty, she still hoped to be proven wrong.

At the end of every day, Brienne liked to sit back on the sofa with a cup of coffee, close her eyes. She meditated for five minutes, just clearing her mind and mentally leaving the day behind. It helped her recharge enough for the fifteen-minute walk home, where she picked up take-out on the way.

When she opened the salon for the day, her mind was too wired on the appointments and other unforeseen events to look at it closely. She left her bag in her office, discussed the expected clients with Sansa, her receptionist, and greeted her employees as they trooped in: Podrick, Margaery and Missandei. There would be some conversation and the occasional ribbing over coffee and donuts before Brienne flipped the sign and Evenstar Hair was open for business.

She thought the salon looked different at the end of the day. There was something. . .sad about it, maybe. Her space was small and it had been her wish to expand by buying the deserted shop next door. She wasn’t clear about the owner but according to her agent, the person refused to sell.

Though space was becoming more limited, she was doing her best to not make it feel so. The walls were painted soft aqua and cream, since lighter colors made the room look brighter and bigger. A small sofa, bought from a garage sale and re-upholstered in faux leather for easier cleaning, was in the middle of the salon. Every stylist had a chair, done in leather too, mirror surrounded with lightbulbs and, as per fire safety standards, individual electrical outlet. The last one had cost Brienne an arm and leg but it was a rule she had no choice to comply with, although she had to take another loan to make it so.

With the loan, she also made room for an employees’ pantry. It was behind brocade fabric she bought at a discount from the store. It had swirls of blue and silver. Here was a minibar, shelves, coffeemaker, three plastic chairs and a table.

She turned on the radio on her way to the sofa, frowning as she pressed for a station that played nothing but music. Everyone at the salon was abuzz regarding some celebrity and a terrible break-up. There was cheating, she supposed, for it to be thought so. One was definitely the walking wounded. She didn’t have much interest in actors and models, unlike her employees and their clients. She read hair trends and did experiments with wigs on mannequin heads in her kitchen. If she wasn’t reading about them, she curled up with a good, suspense novel.

All the radio stations were yakking about that break-up, she discovered, making a face. Something about the end of an era. Someone allegedly coming home to find his or her stuff in boxes and forced out by security. Finally, she found music. Good. Instrumental piano music. She took her coffee to the sofa, put it on the table and sat down.

The five minutes of meditation was her prize after a hard day’s work. The salon would be very busy for the remaining days of business in the year. People wanted to look good for the holidays, thus the surge in haircuts and styling. The next time the salon would be this busy would be Valentine’s, with clients demanding haircuts to get over a break-up.

She was imagining herself in a faraway, deserted beach, sipping an icy, citrusy drink touched with alcohol when a strange sound broke in. She frowned, still keeping her eyes closed. _Endless stretches of white sands, the perfect, turquoise ocean. . .finally getting an actual tan without the risk of sunburn. . ._

“Hello? You there!”

She squeaked, a hand on her heart as she saw a man tapping urgently on the glass door and looking in. Confused, she stared at him.

“Good. You’re awake,” he said, still tapping the glass. Brienne frowned and pointed a finger at herself.

“Are you talking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to fucking Al Pacino,” the man snapped. “Who else would I be talking to? Open the door.”

“I’m sorry, but the salon’s closed,” Brienne said, getting to her feet.

For the first time, she realized that a hood covered his head. But she saw the nice line of his jaw under all that disturbingly sexy scruff. As she approached cautiously, she saw his beautiful, cat-like green eyes. She flushed at realizing how good-looking he was.

“Seven hells. How tall are you?” He demanded. She didn't know if he sounded mocking or impressed. 

“None of your business. I repeat, the salon’s closed.”

“Yeah, but you’re there. Open the door.”

No matter how good-looking this hobo was, he had no right to that attitude. Brienne sighed and threw up her hands. “Look, there’s donuts and I can give you coffee but you have to on your way, sir. You shouldn’t be out. It’s cold. There’s a shelter—”

“What the fuck? I’m not homeless, you idiot!”

But he slammed his fist on the door extra-hard, causing the glass to rattle, before turning away. Brienne, panicking now, reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of scissors then returned to the door. He turned back to her and skidded back upon seeing the scissors.

“What the hell---”

“If you don’t leave I’m calling the cops!” She growled, pointing the scissors at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m not—” He said, putting his hands up.

“Get out of here!” Brienne shouted.

“No!” The man yelled back, starling her. Suddenly, he yanked at his hood.

She gasped.

Before her eyes was the most unbelievable shade of blond hair. Pure spun gold, rich, thick and long. It brushed his broad shoulders as he tossed his head back. The scissors fell from her hands in her shock. The man’s eyes widened and frantically pointed. Realizing what was going to happen, she jumped out of the way. They breathed a loud sigh of relief as the scissors tumbled to the floor right next to her foot.

“Look, wench, you have to let me in. I just saved your big foot,” the man snapped, tapping the glass again.

Brienne, still shaking while staring at the scissors, raised her eyes. “What?”

“I need a haircut.”

“Are you deaf? We’re closed!”

The man glared at her. “So? Don’t you know who I am?”

Ugh. What an audacious asshole. _“Should I?”_

“Have you been living under some stupid giant rock? I’m Jaime Lannister.” The man with the best head of hair she’d ever laid eyes on pounded on the door again. His green eyes flashed. “Open the door or I’ll go to the press and whip your ass.”

 

 

 


	2. Two

Eyes the size of dinner plates stared back at Jaime. He reared back, startled at their vivid blueness.. Sapphires, he thought, mentally shaking his head clear as he glared at her again. He had never seen anything so. . .wrong, yes, that was the word for it, until this moment.

 _Eyes this pretty shouldn’t be on a face so fucking ugly._ If one every doubted Seven’s ability to teach a lesson, the beast’s face was the perfect example. Hair so pale it glowed white under the light, blotchy skin the color of a burst blister. The shoulders were the widest he had seen on anyone but it was her height that was quite astounding. Jaime was six-foot-two and the creature was clearly taller and by her bulk and coarse features, more manly-looking.

He glanced up and down the street. There were only a few people milling about but a good distance away. Far enough for them to not care nor hear the racket he was giving. He was about to pound his fist on the door again, ready to make himself a nuisance until the ugly wench had no choice when the sapphire eyes narrowed at him. He couldn’t believe it. She was fucking uglier. He honestly had never seen anyone so ugly. Nor did he think such ugliness was even possible. It was fucking cruel but he couldn’t be sorry now. His head threatened to burst just thinking of the last couple of days.

“Oh? Like that’s supposed to scare me?” She snapped, pointing the scissors at him again. “I don’t even know you. Get out of here or—” she scrambled behind a white desk. Jaime paled when she picked up the phone. “Or I’ll call the cops!”

“If I don’t scare you why are you calling them?” Jaime pointed out, hoping he sound too worried. Fuck. If she called, it was over.

She blushed. He found himself surprised again, this time with a wrench in his heart.

“Because you’re disturbing the peace and making threats to get inside my salon!” She growled.

Jaime huffed. “Wench, either you’re the biggest idiot around or you really do live under a rock. Don’t you know who I am?”

Confusion made her even more uglier.

“Oh, is that how it is,” he snarled. “Well, you listen good, wench. I’m Jaime fucking Lannister. If you don’t open the door, I’m going to turn around and say that—” he glanced up at the sign— “Evenstar Hair turned me away. You do that and you can kiss this little set-up goodbye.”

“Right,” she scoffed.

“I’ve no reason to lie.”

“You fucking have every reason to lie.” His weird reactions to her was beginning to annoy him. It was heartbreak, exhaustion and pain making him imagine her wide, puffy-lipped mouth opening to fit his cock. He should have worn looser jeans. It was the word _fucking_ coming out of her mouth, in that deep, husky voice. A closer look revealed she wasn’t so unfortunate in the oral department either. A big, wide mouth with thick, plump lips. His cock stirred again.

“How much do you charge per haircut? Eight dragons?” Jaime said, trying a different tactic. He had not had sex in _months._ No wonder giant freaks with freakishly blue eyes was doing things to his cock. “I go to places that charge two hundred dragons a haircut, wench. Two hundred fucking dragons. You should be grateful I’m throwing money at you.”

“I don’t need your money.”

Jaime chuckled. “Unless that’s an actual Mott handbag, wench, I can smell an imitation from a hundred miles away. That sofa is also cheap fake leather,” he added, taking pleasure in her embarrassed flush as her eyes dropped to the floor. “Sure. You don’t need money. Peeling tiles is the latest DIY trend, I suppose.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors insulting my salon.”

“If you’re not gonna give me what I want, why shouldn’t I give you Seven Hells?”

She suddenly walked around the table and went to him. Jaime grinned. But she didn’t open the door. Instead, she suddenly whipped out of her cellphone from her pocket and took a photo of him. He reeled back.

 _“What the actual fuck!”_ He shouted, his arm flinging over his face too late.

“Police are going to want photos of the person harassing me,” she answered, swiping on the screen and doing gods know what else. Jaime’s heart galloped to his throat. Cold sweat overwhelmed his skin.

“My place may be a dump but I have fucking cameras,” she continued. Once again that word. Out of that mouth. In that voice. His godsdamned cock! He needed food. Bad. A nap. A long one. Preferably lasting until the next century.

“And if you are who you say you are,” she continued, her smile cold, “then imagine when the video is posted online. I don’t need your fucking money, Mr. Lannister. Dick that you are is what will get me money to replace my cheap leather sofa,” she flung his word back at him, savoring them with a lick of her lips. Fucking traitor, he thought, feeling that tightness again.

“With expensive leather so fine people will never want to get off it!” She finished her statement with a firm press on her phone and a smile that did not reach her eyes.

Seven bloody hells he really fucked himself in the ass this time. Jaime could only watch helplessly as her eyes brightened looking at the screen. Gods. Three days he had been off the radar. Three days of hiding under a cap, hiding in cheap motels. Fucking ironic he was living like a hobo when his bank accounts were bursting with money.

But where could he go? Those paparazzi bloodsuckers were permanently camped in front of airports. There were even some hiding behind the bushes outside his house.  He’d managed to evade them by precisely doing what they didn’t expect him to do. Everyone expected him to fly off to some exotic island and fuck every hot local girl there to get over his heartbreak.

Instead here he was. Arguing with an ugly wench about a haircut.

“Searching for my image?” He managed to say.

“No. I’m filing my nails,” she snapped.

“Turn your location services on while you’re at it. Don’t give them a hard time making this shithole all mysterious.”

“You’re a sad, pathetic excuse for a human being, do you know that?”

“You mean you’re the last to know?” He couldn’t resist getting the last word in.

Jaime started backing away from the door. His body screamed at him to stay. He was tired. So fucking tired of sleeping on a bad mattress, of hiding just so his heartbreak would stop bleeding on headlines. He just wanted to disappear. To be rid of everything of the man he was because it was lie. A fucking lie. As he turned on his heel, the wench gasped.

“You’re. . .you’re that guy. In the news. The actor.” She stared at him curiously. “You’re the one whose hair is insured for two million dragons.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” he retorted. He started to walk away on unsteady legs. Fuck. _She knew who he was._

“You can’t cut your hair. You’re contractually obligated—”

“Fuck contracts. Fuck commitment.” He glared at her. “Fuck everything.”

Stubbornly, he took a step forward, away from her, from this blasted, dingy salon. But it was getting dark, fast. Shocked and confused, his eyes opened wide. The streetlights were on but darkness was rising. It didn’t make sense.

He swayed and the wench shrieked.

“Mr. Lannister!”

“Jaime,” he muttered, turning around to look at her again as his body began to fall. “My name’s Jaime.”   


****

Brienne burst through the door, catching the man right before his brains scattered on the ground. She groaned under his heavy weight, struggling to hold him firmly. His head lolled to the side, revealing the sexiest and most elegant throat she had seen. Gently, she guided him to straighten his head, brushing his hair back.

_His hair is so soft._

“Jaime,” she whispered, her fingers combing through his hair. She was concerned but also in awe of the texture of his hair. It was so silky and the color was rich, golden blond. His eyebrows were a few shades darker but arched elegantly. Holding him against her, she continued calling his name. Her hand pressed on his chest. His heart was still beating.

His clothes were rumpled and he smelled faintly of cologne. The dark circles under his eyes and his stubble indicated tiredness and the absence of a good razor. She smoothed his hair from his forehead, brushed her knuckles on his cheek.

“Jaime.” He did tell her to call him that. “Jaime, wake up.”

She should get him inside. White puffs left their lips with every breath. He wasn’t dressed properly with just a hoodie, a t-shirt that had seen better days and jeans that smelled they could use a spin in the wash. Her sweater wasn’t enough protection either. She heaved, grunted and cursed getting them both standing upright.

As soon as they were both vertical, Jaime groaned and collapsed against her. The force of his heavy body nearly caused her to topple backward. Brienne gasped and held him fast, pulling his arm over her shoulder and dragging him inside.

She put him on the sofa he had ridiculed most undeservedly. He was groaning, mumbling. She stared at him, not knowing what to do. He needs to get warm, she thought. She went to her office and took her coat. She draped it over him then went to the pantry to make tea.

While waiting for the water to boil, she stayed at his side. She took her phone and, blushing guiltily, continued looking him up.

It didn’t take long for her to feel as if she’d just waded waist-deep in the sewer. The reason she didn’t concern herself with celebrities was that at ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent news about them was pure, utter garbage. Reading just one gossip column made her feel like undergoing lobotomy.

She put her phone away and gazed at him. _Poor guy._ She didn’t know which was worse: that he’d been in love with a cousin or she cheated on him. Caught on camera, no less. She knew too well how it went to be betrayed by someone you trusted. The difference was, her torment was private. Jaime's was public property. 

“Hmm,” he murmured.

“Jaime?” She asked. She put her hand on his cheek. “Jaime, are you okay?”

He sighed, a long, tired sound. Her heart broke.

“I’ll have tea shortly,” she said, hoping it would get him fully awake. “But you look like you haven’t eaten a good meal in a while. I can order Chinese, if you want. Or cheeseburger. Just tell me.”

He grunted.

Then he turned toward her palm and kissed it. Brienne froze.

“Cersei.”

Then he sighed again, turning back to her. His eyes slowly opened. She thought those were the most beautiful green eyes. _Like emeralds._

“Do you want me—” she started to ask when his hand suddenly went around her nape and pulled her down.

And kissed her.

His lips were slightly chapped and his breath was dry but warm. She stayed frozen for about four seconds as Jaime Lannister massaged her lips with his mouth, with a gentle nibble at the corners. 

She didn’t know why but she kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Cersei are not related by blood. She's his cousin by marriage. Still weird but the incest ick factor will not be part of the story. 
> 
> I don't know yet if Cersei will make an appearance. I'd rather she didn't, that's why I won't tag JC.


	3. Three

_Holy Seven Hells._

This was _the_ kiss.

This was the kiss in movies with the sweeping music of an orchestra. This was the kiss in romance novels that rendered legs useless. _The_ kiss in fairy tales before the clock struck midnight, the prince waking up the princess from a long sleep. The true love’s—

Jaime’s tongue slipped past her lips. She froze for a second, wondering if this was the point she should stop him but her tongue was faster, gliding against his. He pulled her closer, until she was leaning over him, her breasts flush against his chest.

He licked the sensitive seam of her inner lips and she gasped at the sudden burst of heat, like an electrical charge. She pulled back a little but he held on. Firm lips plumbed hers open and his tongue dueled with hers again. His breath was stale and this was wrong, wrong, wrong. But she couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

The whistling kettle broke through the spell they were under.  For the first time since they started kissing, he stopped, his lips half-open under hers. She slowly opened her eyes and stared right into a confused emerald stare. Blushing hotly, she fell back on her feet, her shoulder bumping the coffee table and sending her bag to the floor, spilling its contents. _Rats._

Brienne quickly went to retrieve them, stuffing them back in the bag and getting to her feet to put it behind the reception desk. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaime Lannister gingerly sat up. The kettle continued to whistle. Cursing under her breath, she hurried to the pantry.

Steam was rising as the kettle kept whining. She turned off the stove. Then she suddenly switched on the faucet, cupped water in her hands and splashed icy cold water to her face. She gasped again but the burning in her cheeks came to a sudden halt.

She was still leaning over it, letting the water drip down her chin when someone cleared his throat behind her. She blushed again and snatched a sheet off the paper towel roll to pat on her face. As she did, Jaime spoke.

“I’m sorry.” He paused. “I thought you were someone else.”

She slowly removed the paper towel from her face and took a deep breath. Crumpling it, she muttered, “I know.”

She tossed it in the trash and turned to face him. There was a wild look in his eyes and his lips were pink and slightly swollen. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip and his eyes dropped there. Annoyed with herself, she crossed her arms. He cleared his throat again, looking away.

“I know. I heard you call me. . .someone else. I didn’t stop you.” Damn it but her face was turning red again. “I—I’m sorry.”

Jaime nodded and put his hands in his jeans pockets. “I’ve been trying not to think about her.”

Brienne looked at him. The crash course in pop culture gave her the highlights: until a few days ago, he was in a long-term relationship with Cersei. She had seen photos. She was an exquisite blond with green eyes. They were cousins through marriage but their similar features had the media dubbing them as “Lannincest.”

“I’m sorry you found out about her the way you did.” Blushing some more, she tightened her arms around herself. “I honestly didn’t know about you until you showed up. Then I looked you up. . .that was brutal. And I just realized it’s not my business to comment on anything about you because we don’t know each other.” Awkwardly, she started running her fingers through her hair but managed to stop just in time.

“Well,” Jaime said after a moment. “I appreciate it. You’re the only one who knows well enough her place. I should go.” He sighed and she was shocked to see a strange shimmer there. Was he trying to hold back tears?

But he turned away before she could take a closer look. “My agent’s been calling and texting. I must have around five hundred messages and voice mails. Everyone thinks I should have a statement or something.”

“What do you think about that?”

“What?”

She went to stand next to him. “I mean, you have a choice.”

He scoffed. “I actually don’t.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “Sorry. I just overstepped again.”

“I appreciate it this time.” He said, giving her a small smile. “I’m. . .I’m a brand. There are expectations.”

“You’re also a person,” she protested.

He shrugged and made his way to the door. She remained where she was, watching him pull it open. As he did, a column of harsh, very cold air entered the salon. Jaime grunted and shut the door.

“It’s fucking freezing out there!” He growled, rubbing his palms and blowing into them.

“Look, you don’t have to go. Not yet.” Brienne told him. “There’s tea. And. . .and if you need someone to talk or. . .or a haircut, then. . .I can do that.”

“Why would you do that?” He demanded, removing himself from the door. “What’s in it for you?”

Of course, he would be suspicious. That hurt but she understood he was only protecting himself. That’s what he was doing, she realized. Hiding and trying not to think about that Cersei. But in doing it, she saw a man about to go to pieces. He was in no shape to make the statement his people would force him to do. He couldn’t go back to that world yet. He was a stubborn, rude ass but he was broken. Betrayal could do that to you.

“Nothing.”

His chuckle was bitter. “Right.”

“Nothing!” She exclaimed, outraged that he’d think so lowly of her when she hadn’t been the one flinging insults. Not at first. “Gods, is that how it is for people like you? You don’t trust anyone?”

“How can I? Anyone who comes up at me does so to get a photo. If I get into a fucking car accident, even when it’s not my fault, once I’m recognized, you think no one will try to make my money off me? The woman I loved---” His voice cracked and he looked away, his head hung and his breathing rapid. “The woman I loved,” he choked out, “cheated on me. Six years. You know what’s worse?” He glared at Brienne. “It wasn’t the first time. She told me. But it was the first time she got caught.”

Brienne wished she didn’t know that situation too well.

“She stopped loving me a long time ago. She stuck with me because of who I am. She fooled and fucked me and said all the things I wanted to hear for a fucking career. She was with me because at least I’m only one guy she’ll have to spread her legs for to get ahead. So, whoever you are,” he bit out, “understand why I don’t trust you.”

“Brienne.” She snapped.

He looked confused. “What?”

“My name. It’s Brienne.” She held out her hand and approached him. “Brienne Tarth.”

Jaime stared at her hand. “What?”

Gods. He was just an asshole extraordinaire. One minute you wanted to give him hot chocolate and wrap him in blankets. The next you wanted to shove his face in a vat of boiling water.

She thrust her hand toward him again. “I don’t know if I’ll ever earn your trust, Jaime. I hope I do, though. So, I’m introducing myself so you’ll be less suspicious. And I want to remind you that there’s only person in this room who has shown some atrocious behavior and it fucking wasn’t me.”

Jaime frowned, stared at her hand again then finally shook it. “Jaime Lannister.”

She took her hand back. “Now, how about tea? And you look like you could use some food? I have sugar donuts.”

“Don’t bother. Tea will do.”

“Are you sure? It’s not a bother at all.”

“To be honest, I feel sick just thinking of food.”

He was in worse shape than she thought. But Brienne turned on her heel and went to put tea bags in bags, followed by the hot water. Jaime shuffled toward the pantry and sat down on a chair.

She put the mugs on the table. Despite what he said, she took the carton of sugar donuts from the fridge, put two pieces in a plate. She put it in the microwave, all the while very much aware of Jaime Lannister watching her. He was trying to read her. Trying to guess her motives. Wondering at what point she will take out her phone again and possibly compromise him. She didn’t have location services on when she looked up the photo she took earlier, however.

Yet she could understand. He was in a business where everyone wanted something from him, heedless of his own desires.

The microwave dinged and she took the donuts. She put the plate on the table and sat down. The tea was still blessedly hot. The air smelled of warm sugar.

Jaime watched as she took a sip before reaching for his mug. She watched him smell the tea. The mutinous expression on his face softened in recognition. “Chamomile.”

“Yes. Go on.”

Their eyes met and he took a sip. “It’s my favorite.”

She had to smile. “Mine too.”

As Jaime continued with his tea, she urged him to take a donut. “You look a little pale. It also seems you haven’t been getting any sleep. Not enough, anyway.”

“How can I sleep?’ He said, taking one and biting into it. His teeth were white and even. She folded her lips around her teeth consciously. Orthodontia had fixed her buckteeth but not their size. She hardly smiled with her teeth.

“Why didn’t you go away? You could have, you know.”

“And go where? Even if I do, there’s paparazzi in airports. Everywhere. No matter how isolated an exotic island may be, a determined guy with a long lens camera can still get the job done.” Jaime shuddered. “That’s the worst part of the job. Sure. Great money. Great travel. And I—the women are never a problem unless they’re---” he took a deep breath— “lying whores. But the privacy. How nothing is mine but everyone else’s. I know there are people worse off. My problems can’t be compared to them but. . .just this once, I need to be left alone.”

She made him finish the second donut and poured him another cup of tea. The color returned to his cheeks and he looked a lot less dead in the eyes.

“You tell me you have no agenda behind your charity,” Jaime told her. “I’ve told you stuff about myself I’ve never told anyone. Your turn.”

Brienne squirmed in her seat, flushing. “There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

“Come on.”

“There really isn’t.”

“You know what I learned from my work?”

“What?”

“The ones who won’t shut up really have nothing to say. They shouldn’t speak at all. Those who have much to say. . .” his voice trailed off significantly as his eyes searched her face for a tell. “Often stay quiet.”

“What’s there to know about me? I’m a stylist. I own the salon.” She shrugged and finished her tea. “There’s really not much beyond that.”

“Boyfriend? Husband?” Jaime’s eyes shone. “Girlfriend? Both?”

She glowered at him. “None of the above.”

“So, no children?”

“Boy, that’s really how it is when you ask women questions. You ask if she’s in a relationship then if she has children. Really?”

“Well, I don’t know you. And it would be presumptuous of me to assume that we can debate about the current climate regarding immigration. For all I know, you agree with deporting legal residents of this country just because they’re not white.” Jaime looked disgusted.

“That’s a very wrong assessment of me. Besides, it’s rude to talk with a complete stranger about your political views.”

“I thought the reason you introduced yourself is so I’d trust you.”

“I introduced myself so I won’t be a stranger.” She grimaced at his triumphant grin. “Fine. We’re no longer strangers. And for your information, I find it shameful that in this day and age, there are still assholes who judge people for the color of their skin and what they believe in. That’s my stand on the issue.”

“Chamomile and believing in equality and human rights.” Jaime mused. “Now we have more in common.”

“You’re keeping a tally?”

“The less of a stranger you are, the more I trust you.”

“I made you tea and you drank it.”

“Believe me, wench. If it had poison, I wouldn’t complain.”

And he was back, Jaime Lannister with the haunted, bitter look in his eyes. He sighed and picked up the plate and the mugs to bring them to the sink. Brienne got to her feet.

“I—I—Let me take care of that,” she said.

Jaime shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s the least I can do.”

Long locks of his hair fell over his forehead. Her fingers itched to brush them back. _What was happening to her?_

“Do you still want that haircut?” She asked.

He glanced at her. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure? Because your contract—”

“Fuck the contract. I don’t care.” Jaime finished with the dish and mugs and was now drying them. “You’ll do it?”

“I just want you to be sure. Lots of people get haircuts after a break-up an end up regretting it.”

“Only because they’re bad haircuts.”

“Jaime—”

He grunted as he shoved the mugs in the cupboard. “Look, I don’t want anything with me that Cersei’s touched, okay? I’d scrub myself clean for days if I have to. But the hair. She liked it.”

“It is a good head of hair, Jaime,” she admitted.

“I don’t like it.”

“Do you not like it because of what happened or do you really not like it?”

“I’ve never liked it. It’s fucking inconvenient and I look like I could use a shower even when I have showers. You’ll do it, wench? Cut my hair?” He leaned against the sink, crossing his arms. His expression was smug.

She scowled. “I think you must sign a waiver.”

“What the fuck for?”

“I don’t want to be part of any lawsuit—”

“Oh, fucking crying out loud! It’s hair! It’s just fucking hair!” Jaime yelled. At her disapproving glare, he sighed and buried his face in his hands for a bit before looking at her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I wasn’t yelling at you. It’s just that---I need—I need to do something. I don’t want any of my old life with Cersei to be still with me. It’s making me crazy. Do you understand?”

“I—I do. But I just want you to make sure. I refuse to be part of anything that might hurt you.” Brienne bit her lip, wondering if she had said too much. Honesty was her weakness.

Jaime stared at her in amazement. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why are you protecting me?”

“I’m not.” She said defensively. “I’m just being a decent human being. Trying to show you that there are still people not out to make a buck off you.”

“People?” He pretended to look around then gestured at her. “There’s only you.”

“Maybe all it takes is one.” She declared.

He smiled. “So, what about that haircut?”

 

*****  
  
Their heights matched closely but she was taller than him, Jaime discovered as Brienne swept a black smock around him, securing it with a Velcro strip at the back. She led him to the shampoo area, instructing him to scoot closer so he could comfortably place his head on the sink.

The water pouring in slow streams onto his hair was warm. As she rinsed him, her fingers ran up and down his hair, his scalp. Her touch was surprisingly soft. A pleasant tickle.

“How long have you been styling hair?” He asked.

“Hmm. Seven years. But I started out as a shampoo girl first. All stylists do,” she said, inspecting his hair. “Jaime, you have split ends and your scalp is dry. You’ll need a deep conditioning treatment before I cut your hair.”

“Wench, all I want is a haircut.”

“Look, I’m not trying to jack up the price, alright?” She sounded delightfully annoyed. “It’s a freebie. Even the haircut. I know what I see and I can tell that you really haven’t been taking care of yourself due to the condition of your scalp.”

“You can tell that from my hair? Not from my sob story?”

“Don’t be smart. It doesn’t suit you.”

He laughed and she started to lather this hair with shampoo. Fuck. Her fingers felt wonderful, gently but firmly pressing around his scalp. She rinsed him then put conditioner on him.

“What kind of haircut do you want?” She asked as she rinsed him again. Jaime was amazed that not a single droplet of water got on his face. Salons that charged an arm and leg had never been able to avoid getting water on him or his clothes.

“I don’t know.” He admitted.

Brienne wrapped a towel around his head. “Alright. Let’s get up.”

He sat up and she went around to pat his hair. Her movements were brisk and efficient yet still with a gentle touch. “You want me to shave the entire thing off?” She joked, removing the towel from him and signaling him to stand up.

“Alright, I don’t hate my hair that much.” Jaime said, sitting down one of the chairs. He was startled to see himself in the mirror. Fuck. He looked like. . .well, Seven Hells, actually. Gray under the eyes. Pale. Gaunt cheekbones. No wonder Brienne refused to let him inside earlier.

“I don’t know.” He turned his head from side to side. His wet hair swished around his shoulders. “I definitely want it short. Could you maybe thin out the sides?”

“How about just a trim?” Brienne suggested, standing behind him. She ran her fingers through his hair, fluffing it. “Just the part with split ends.”

His determined gaze met hers in the mirror. “No. Short. I’m sure.”

She flushed. He squinted at her. _Curious._

From the moment he first laid eyes on her, she was always blushing. It was easy to dismiss the redness of her face but he was beginning to notice that there were different shades.

Vivid, dark red when furious, like when they were yelling at each other the first time.

A bright pink like when they stopped kissing. He should have known from the start he wasn’t kissing Cersei. The lips were soft and plump. When his tongue swooped in, it wasn’t the bold thrust of Cersei’s that met it but one that pulled back a little, faltering when stroking him back. It was like kissing the Maiden.

Dusky rose when shy. Like when she offered him tea. When urged him to have the donuts.

Apple-red when she felt a little confident, like when she introduced herself to him. She didn’t strike him as one hundred percent sure. She was tall but hunched a little, no doubt conscious of her height. She could look at him right in the eye but stammered every now and then. And those eyes. It was a wonder he’d been able to have some semblance of normal conversation with her with those sapphires on him. They made him feel vulnerable and stripped. Not the best feeling in the world but strangely, one that he didn’t wish to pass.

Right now, she had a warm, rosy glow as if just come from the gym. _Or fucking._ She didn’t have a boyfriend. Jaime wasn’t surprised but some part of him was relieved.

“You’re really sure? You won’t wake up tomorrow hating yourself?” She demanded.

“I never do anything I’m not sure about,” he said firmly. “Snip away, wench.”

“Call me that one more time and it’s not just hair you’ll lose,” Brienne told him, making him laugh again. She reached in her apron where she kept scissors and a comb.

First, she combed his hair out, starting from the tip then working her way up. She patiently unknotted some tangles with her fingers instead of just forcing the comb through them. He watched her through the mirror, glad for the decision to pass on the magazines she offered with a blush (pink daisy). She was focused and intense, her sapphire eyes staring at his hair like it was a science experiment about to unravel a miracle.

She ran the comb through his hair and poised the scissors next to it. “One last chance, Jaime.”

He smiled, catching a glimpse of himself looking relaxed for the first time in days. “Do it. Don’t give me a sissy trim, wench.”

“Shut up,” she told him, running the comb down the end of his hair, flipping it to reveal the uneven ends. He smiled at as she took a deep loud breath and began to cut.

As bits of his hair fell to the floor, she searched his face in the mirror. “Okay?”

It was adorable how small and shaky her voice was. “Finish it.”

She took another deep breath, gathered herself, and went to cut a second time.

The process took her an hour. For a woman who was broadly-built and tall, she moved lightly, smoothly. Once she got the hang of cutting his hair, she seemed to dance before his eyes. It was just her hands holding comb and scissors, her feet as they brought her around. At one point, she stood right in front of him, her breasts almost pressed to his face, one of her legs between his.

She didn’t wear spicy perfume but rather smelled fresh and wholesome. It was a nice, welcome change. He could breathe easier too—if only his cock would relax. _He was fucking hard._ Through her sweater, he saw the sweet press of her nipples against the cloth. He shouldn’t do it but did it anyway, allowing his eyes to trail down her stomach, down her hips. Her jeans were not tight but a comfortable fit. Yet he noted the strength of her thighs and wondered how she got them that way. If it was because she liked to be on top when fucking. . .

Emotional and mental stress, not to mention sleep deprivation was making his cock. . .well, _fucking nuts._ It wanted to be buried inside Brienne Tarth, the sapphire-eyed, plain-faced wench whose snips were dooming his career. _Fuck his career._ Under the smock, his palms began to sweat, twitching, even, as he curled them into fists lest they reach up to seize her between her legs, push her sweater up.

He had to swallow a groan at the traitorous turn of his thoughts as images of his cock fucking Brienne’s mouth came at him. Would she enjoy it? He hated that thoughts about Cersei followed. _She didn’t enjoy it._

He enjoyed sex with her. No question. But it was becoming clear to him she didn’t feel the same way. He remembered how she turned away from him soon after, muttering she didn’t like cuddles. Not once did she initiate. It was always him wanting her, chasing her. Needing her. She never liked positions where they faced each other.

_She certainly never looked like she does in those photos with me._

She had fooled him. Maybe it wasn’t the betrayal that hurt but that she’d fooled him. And it wouldn’t be possible if he hadn’t blinded himself to the kind of person she really was.

His sobering thoughts caused his cock to soften, much to his relief. Brienne was now giving his hair a blow-out,  going around with a round hairbrush and a blow-drier. The same intensity on her face, the same brisk, impersonal movements that he nevertheless felt _everywhere._ Through the mirror, Jaime saw his much-shorter hair. No more locks trailing down his forehead, down his shoulders. He tried to tilt his head to the side to get a better look of the much-trimmed side on his head but she hissed and, quite roughly, pushed his head upright with a palm.

“Don’t move.” She ordered him, full lips pursed in displeasure.

He smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her rough sigh ruffled the top of his hair. Her breath was a heavy gust and warm, like the tea. He sighed in resignation as his cock thrust insistently under his jeans.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, pulling the blower and the brush away.

“Nothing. I just want to see my new hair.” Out of habit, his hand rose to brush at it. He encountered trimmed edges rather than sheaves.

“Be patient.” She ordered him again. Candy-pink cheeks followed. “Sorry. I hope you like it.”

As she went about blow-drying the top of his hair, he thought to ask a question meant to surprise her. It was only fair. Oh, she was completely innocent regarding his erections but he was not the only one who will be uncomfortable.

“Have you fucked on a chair?” He asked casually. His hands closed around the armrests. “This chair?”

“W-What?” He had to smile as her movements visibly faltered before she resumed with a sudden burst of energy. He yelped as she pulled a few strands of his hair.

“Don’t distract me, Jaime.”

“What? It’s an _innocent_ question!”

“It’s invasive, rude, and none of your fucking business.”

Oh, Seven _Fucking_ Hells! Not that word again.

“Surely you must have at least fantasized.”

She lowered her tools and glared at him. “Have you fucked on a chair?”

He shrugged. “That’s basically a fucking basic, wench. What do you think?”

Her cheeks were the color of tomatoes before attacking his hair again. “I don’t want to know.”

“Fucking on sand is not as sexy as it looks,” he continued, enjoying himself. “It gets everywhere. Your butt crack chafes for days and you can’t exactly use a vacuum cleaner to remove them.”

“J-Jaime, please.” Her face was the color of beets now.

Was she as commanding as she was now when there was a cock pounding in her? Or did she beg? He didn’t have a problem with both.

“Just a friendly warning. And fucking on silk sheets? Overrated. You slip.”

Was her upper lip sweating? But she turned away, roughly shoving her tools back in the drawer under the mirror. He smiled hugely upon seeing himself. She still had to style his hair but he liked what he saw. No more long hair. Just a sleek crop with a four-day beard. He didn’t recognize himself at first and liked the haircut even more because of it.

Brienne, noticing he was looking at himself, stepped aside. Her expression was openly anxious. “Um, what do you think?”

“Not bad, wench. Not bad at all.” He turned his head from side to side. “I don’t think people will recognize me right away.”

“Is—is that a good thing?”

“It’s awesome,” he assured her.

“Just let me do a bit more trimming here,” and her hand went up to touch the side of his head. Jaime remembered her hand on his cheek earlier and nearly closed his eyes. “And some styling. Then. . .you’re good to go.”

Fuck. He forgot. He will have to leave.

His five-bedroom mansion with the aquamarine infinity pool and gym with the latest equipment, home theater with the popcorn machine was waiting for him. And if Cersei hadn’t cleared out all of her stuff yet, some of her remained as well. He had every right to go back. The house was his, after all. But knowing she had gone to bed with him almost as soon as she finished fucking another man. . .knowing that she had secret calls with one of her many lovers in that house—only fire would cleanse that place of her treachery.

Once he left this neighborhood no-name salon, he will have to face his agent, his publicist, the press, the public. All wanting a piece of him. He was broken with vital pieces missing and still unaccounted for and he had to give what remained to them. There was nothing for himself. Not even his pain.

Brienne started evening out the edges. He really liked her work. The haircut was hip but also suited him well. Thin on the sides, jagged on top. It needed little styling. Her hands massaged some product on his scalp, his hair. Gods. He was melting from her soothing, innocent touches. It had been so long since anyone had touched him with care. He was fucking pathetic.

She unsnapped the Velcro keeping the smock closed and Jaime leaned forward, checking out his hair again. She stood behind him, her eyes big and her teeth clamped on her lower lip. He had to turn and give her a reassuring smile.

“I really like it, Brienne. It’s an ace haircut.”

“You might feel different tomorrow.”

“Come on. This is great work.” He stood up from the chair. She dropped her eyes to the smock and began folding it.

“So, uh. . .I think I should call my agent. Have him send the car over. . .”

She raised her eyes from the task. Her cheeks were soft, barely-there pink. She appeared to be debating with herself over something.

“Do—Do you think that’s what your. . .next course of action should be?”

He shrugged. “There are people who rely on me for their jobs, Brienne.”

“But. . .you need a break.”

“Then they don’t get paid.”

“Who? Your agents? All they do is sweet-talk people into hiring you. They deserve a lot less than the ten percent you give them. I’m not saying I’m right. For all I know they’re loyal. But if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t be too trusting of people who are there just because of the money my hard work gives them.”

“In the first place, you can never be in my shoes. I think your feet are bigger.”

She rolled her eyes at his attempt at humor. “Don’t. I know I’m nothing to you. I shouldn’t say what I just said but. . .Jaime, you’re going through something nearly all people have experienced. Heartbreak. Betrayal. What’s different is it’s played out in public. It already is even without you. Can you imagine how it will be once you come back?”

“I can be three years, fifteen years in hiding, wench. It will still be there when I return.”

“So, what’s the rush?”

“You don’t get it.”

“Try me.” She put the smock on the chair and went to stand right before him. Dark sapphires bored into him, as if trying to see what he was made of. “Tell me what good reason you have to hurry returning to those vultures.”

“The earlier I do, the faster this is all behind me.”

“You can’t rush mourning.”

“Who the fuck says I’m mourning?”

“Aren’t you? As shitty as she was, you loved her. The person you thought she was is no more. She’s dead. Maybe she was never there in the first place---”

“You’re crossing the line, Brienne.” He warned her, turning away. But she grabbed him around the arm and pulled to make him face her. Aghast, he growled. _“Don’t.”_

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. We’re not friends. You shouldn’t even listen to me but. . .I can’t let you walk away knowing you’re going to get eaten alive as soon as you do. I’m not a friend. I’m no one. But you should at least know someone cares for you without needing wanting anything in return.”

She was pleading with him. Not to give her anything. She was begging him to think of himself for a change.

“Look,” she continued desperately. “All I ask is. . .you stay under the radar a while longer. You haven’t given yourself enough time, Jaime. I know. I know,” she added softly. “I just don’t want you to be ripped apart by those animals.”

“Where should I go? Look, even with this new hair, it won’t take long for people to recognize me. I have all the money in the world, Brienne. I can go wherever the fuck I want but so will they. There’s no place to hide for me. There’s no fucking sanctuary.”

They stared at each other in silence. Both were breathing quickly, harshly, their faces flushed.

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” he said dejectedly. “So, I might as well leave and face it.”

Sapphire eyes looked at him. He watched her pink cheeks cross over to red.

“You—You can come home. With me.”

He stared back at her in surprise. She nodded vigorously, her blue eyes pillars of light in the darkness awaiting him in the world of glitter.

“Yes, Jaime. Come home with me.”


	4. Four

Brienne flicked on the light and instantly regretted it. Heat slammed right into her face and all the way to the very tip of her toes as she suddenly shoved the bags of food in Jaime’s hands to scramble putting things into order.

Tidiness came naturally to her in the salon but her apartment, while not looking like the site of a catastrophe, showed the struggle in exhibiting the same instinct. She picked up a discarded sweater from the sofa, jeans and another top from a chair. The empty, unwashed bowl from which she had cereal earlier was scooped up from the table and put in the sink. Her sneakers were in the middle of the room, one of them with still a sock inside. Her gym bag, containing her sweaty clothes, was right next to them.

She hauled her clothes to the bedroom and groaned at seeing her unmade bed. “Make yourself comfortable!” She called out over her shoulder, dumping her clothes in the hamper and hurrying to straighten the blankets and the sheets. When she came out, Jaime was standing the middle of her apartment, still holding the bags and looking around curiously. Another surge of warmth bathed her as she went to relieve him of the bags.

“Sorry,” she said. “Err. . I wasn’t expecting guests. But please, sit down. Oh, can I take your coat?”

He smiled at her. Yikes, she thought, feeling her stomach flutter. She swore her heart stopped beating for a second as he turned those movie-star whites on her. “Sure,” he said, turning so his back faced her. He put the bags on the coffee table then she helped him out of it.

“Um, make yourself at home,” she offered, taking his coat in her arms and gesturing awkwardly at the sofa. She hurried to the closet to deposit his coat there, then hers. With her back arching to remove her heavy coat, she was reminded of the tightness of her nipples. She reddened and looked down, hoping the straining tips were not too noticeable under her sweater.

Her nipples had been aching since she started cutting his hair. At first she thought it was due to the cold. But when she was standing in front of him working on the top of his hair, his warm breath caressed her breasts and they got tighter. It was embarrassing.

“You can put your feet up or read a book while I get things ready,” she called over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen.

“Can I help?” He asked.

She glanced back at him, shaking her head. “Please, no. You’re a guest.” At his odd look, she realized that she was redder in the face and sweating. She put a hand on her heart, willing herself to calm down. “Really, Jaime. Just relax.”

“You should see about taking your own advice,” he told her, still staring at her curiously. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Right.” She was relieved she had taken the time to fix things up in the bedroom. “Through the bedroom. You’ll find it on the left.”

“Thanks.”

While Jaime did his business, Brienne washed her bowl and coffee mug then put them on the rack to dry. She was taking the food out of the bags when she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Head whipping toward her bedroom, she remembered something she should have removed from the bathroom—her panties hanging on the curtain rack to dry. Her cheeks flared. Bad enough _Jaime Lannister_ had no doubt seen her panties. But it was her ratty ones hanging there. The full, granny, worn ones she went around in on weekends. Some with rips on the sides.

She kept her head down when Jaime rejoined her in the kitchen. He made no remark although the brightness in his eyes told her he had seen her underwear. She kept right on concentrating assembling the Chinese take-out hoarded from her favorite restaurant: an assortment of dumplings, lemon chicken, shrimps with nuts, beef with broccoli, and crispy noodles. Risking a glance at him, she insisted that he sit on the couch and read a book.

“Come on, Brienne. You gotta let me help. I’ve been sitting on my ass for days. I need to move.” He sniffed appreciatively. “That smells really good.”

“I knew you’d be hungry,” she remarked, trying to hide her relief at his tact. “Would you mind getting some plates? Behind you.” She wasn’t going to insist anymore that he relax. If he wanted to be useful then she won’t stop him.

Jaime got them and went to get glasses too. Brienne opened the fridge and found a bottle of grape soda and four bottles of beer. Jaime asked for beer.

A buffet of Chinese take-out and ice-cold beer were just the things needed after a taxing day at work. Brienne ordered from the restaurant so often that the owner already knew what she wanted before a single word left her lips. But she added some extras for tonight, already sensing that Jaime was a lot hungrier than he realized.

She put her phone in a speaker dock and scrolled through her playlist until finding soft rock music. As the familiar, catchy drumbeats came on, she turned pink and hastily glanced at Jaime, who was bobbing his head to the music. _Dear gods. Jaime Lannister was an awkward, goofy dancer._

Playing air guitar and swaying his hips, his eyes closed, he belted out:

_“Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight. Gonna grab some afternoon delight. My motto’s always been ‘when it’s right, it’s right.’ Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?”_

Opening his eyes, he danced toward her, exaggeratedly rotating his hips when he saw her trying not to laugh. Gleaming emeralds watched her redden and shake her head as he bumped his hip against hers before reaching for her hands. Realizing what he was going to do, she shook her head vehemently.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Jaime.”

“I fucking dare, wench,” he drawled, pulling her roughly to his chest. He laughed as her mouth fell open as her small breasts were flattened against his chest. His grin widened as he grinded against her, keeping her pressed against him with a gentle but sure pressure at the small of her back and one of her hands clasped tightly in his. Keeping her secure, he easily danced her around the room while continuing his off-key singing.

 _“Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite. Looking forward to a little afternoon delight. Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite.”_ She was deep crimson as he suddenly seized her hips in both hands and rubbed against her suggestively. _“And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting. . .”_

“Get your hands off my butt,” she hissed but making only a pathetic attempt to pull away. He was warm and firmly-muscled. She could smell him and feel _everything_. She was torn between hoping it was his belt buckle pressing against her and. . .not.

Jaime grinned but obeyed, putting his hands on her waist. _“Started out this morning feeling so polite. . .”_

“No, you didn’t. You called me an idiot several times,” she pointed out as he twirled her. Her height was apparently no hindrance into getting it done.

“I apologize a million times, wench,” Jaime told her, looking sincere. Then he suddenly dipped her. She squealed, grabbing him suddenly. Jaime grunted too but tightened his hold on her. She blushed as he sang softly this time.

_“But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might try nibbling. . . “_

He lowered his lips toward her neck. Brienne squealed as he surprised her with a kiss then a quick graze of his teeth that had her gasping and laughing. _And oh gods, her nipples tightened even more._ Embarrassed, she now really tried escaping his arms and tried not to be very sorry when he let her go. But they stood gazing at each other, laughing. Another wall of ice lay shattered between them.

Brienne took a deep breath, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, let’s get you fed. Lest you faint again and if I don’t get any food in me either, I won’t be able to catch you.”

“My lady knight,” Jaime declared, following her into the kitchen.

“I’d settle for stylist supreme.”

“Done. The royal decree shall be out shortly.”

They sat down at the table and happily dug in. Brienne tried not to be too ecstatic at sharing it with someone. She rarely had guests and her meals were often in front of the TV with carton boxes. Margaery had on more than one occasion lectured that was only fun if she was naked and not alone.

There was no question that Jaime Lannister was a fucking god naked. Brienne saw the photos. _She had felt him._ She thought Cersei was the biggest idiot to fuck someone else when she had a body like that to come home to.

“I haven’t had a decent meal in days,” Jaime suddenly confessed. At her worried look, he quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had cheeseburger and normal food but I’ve been hiding in motels.” With chopsticks, he picked up a sliver of beef. “They don’t’ have anything like this. Do you have some of the soy sauce?”

“Here,” she said, handing him the packet. “Are you still going to use some of the chili?”

“Nah.” He gave it to her. “I’m a pussy with spicy food.”

She blushed as he said the word pussy. She knew what he meant. Her body just thought he meant something else. She hid her burning face by taking a swig of the beer  before crossing her legs.

She watched him eat with gusto. His appetite was healthy and she willingly gave up the vegetable spring roll she loved when he asked if she wanted the last piece. He was looking healthier and better with each bite. And with his shorter hair, she saw the faint silver scattered in some areas. The haircut looked good on him, although it wasn’t an easy style for most men, especially those of a certain age. Along with the stubble, his appearance had a harder edge. Gave him character. She thought he could still play the romantic lead as per usual but now, he could pass for a statesman. A devilishly handsome, highly-principled statesman.

“Either you think I’m sexy when I eat or you’re admiring your work,” he teased her, having zero self-consciousness at being observed so openly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just. . it’s a good look on you.” She gestured at his hair. She blushed.

He grinned. “Well, your haircut, wench.”

“Brienne.”

“I know.”

She rolled her eyes and went to get some shrimp from his plate. “See, right there?” He pointed out. “Total wench move.”

“Maybe I should shave your head.”

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. Warm and genuine. It also did wonders to his face. He looked much younger and so relaxed. He was unbelievably good-looking to begin with. Add teeth and those dimples and no mortal woman would be unaffected. She blushed and helped herself to more of the shrimp.

“If you’re keen on shaving, how about helping me out?” He asked, rubbing the whiskers on his cheeks. “I’d like to get rid of this.”

“What are you talking about? It goes well with your new haircut.”

“Scratching myself doesn’t.” He nudged her ankle with his foot. “Come on. What do you say? You’re handy with scissors. A blade is nothing.”

“Yeah, but one, I don’t have a spare shaver here. What I have I use on my legs. And two, don’t you shave on your own? Don’t tell me you’re that spoiled.”

Fearing that she’d crossed the line, she quickly tried to apologize but Jaime laughed again. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had an honest conversation with anyone? Someone who won’t take any bullshit?”

She shook her head slowly. For some reason, it seemed to charm him. His smile went well with his eyes.

“Probably never.” He told her. “Oh. I’m wrong. Well, there’s my father who threatened to disown me for quitting law school. Then my baby brother. He’s been calling but I haven’t been answering.” He suddenly got quiet.

She swallowed her food. “Um, maybe you should call him? Tell him where you are?”

“I should, shouldn’t I?”

“He must be worried.”

He sighed. “I was never good at being a brother.”

They finished the rest of the food in silence. Jaime wore a thoughtful look so Brienne didn’t say anything more. He offered to clear the table but she would have none of it. “Uh. . .why don’t you hang out at the couch? Or. . .would you like a shower?”

He looked alarmed. “Do I stink?”

“No!” She exclaimed. He smelled a little sweaty when they danced earlier but it didn’t repel her. Blushing, she stammered. “But—I can run you a bath? I mean, you could use a break, Jaime. That’s why you’re here.”

“Still taking care of me,” he mused, chuckling. “I’d love a bath, come to think of it. But I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Oh. She honestly didn’t think about that. She lowered her head as her cheeks burned some more, and it got worse when he stared at her. He stared at her quite a lot. It was unnerving. She hoped he didn’t notice the state of her nipples.

“We’re—we’re the same size. You can help yourself to my clothes.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any boxers lying around? From old boyfriends? I’ve been turning my underwear inside out.”

She snorted. “I don’t keep anything from them.”

From her sharp reply, he must have realized that he was close to a landmine. “Oh, well. . .” his hand rose to run though his hair and he remembered it was now short. “I thought to ask. . .I mean, I can’t go around commando. Usually it’s comfortable but given the weather, my balls will freeze and fall off.”

 _Did he really have to be so. . .descriptive?_ Knowing there was no way out, she faced him.

“You can see some of my underwear in the bathroom. They’re clean. You’re welcome to them.”

She turned away to dump the food cartons in the trash. But Jaime remained by the table.

“I’ll be sure to make use of them. They look very comfortable. I don’t think I’ve worn women’s underwear before.” He mused. Now she knew he was teasing her for their unfashionable style. She wished to dump some of the noodles on his head.

“I think even when it’s something you’re passionate about, silence may be golden.” She retorted, throwing the rest of the cartons with more force than necessary. She swore she could hear him stifling a laugh so she shot him a warning look. Jaime stared back at her with an all too-innocent expression.

“I thought you were going to have a bath.”

“You offered to run me one.”

“Oh.”

“Brienne! Come on, I was just fucking with you.” She blushed at _that_ word. He had dialed back on the word in the last hour but the effect on her was still potent. Her intentions toward him were nothing untoward but he was handsome and infuriating. She never made the right choices with men, she thought helplessly. But her nipples had been so achingly tight since their kiss and there was only one way to remedy them. _I’m so fucking pathetic._

“I’m perfectly capable of running my own bath,” he continued, unaware of what he was doing to her head, to her body. “I appreciate the offer but you _are_ spoiling me. You keep this up and I will _never_ leave.” He winked.

She held up her hands then. “Alright. You’re on your own.”

“I’m heartbroken, wench,” he assured her, his tone gentle. “But not broken.”

“I know.” She agreed.  “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

He was surprised but his face cleared right away. Brienne prayed to the Seven she would stop the dumb blushing. But they were clearly deaf so, grunting under her breath, she turned to get the plates from the table and put them in the sink. “There are bath salts if you want them,” she said while sponging. “And—and bath crème. Mango-scented, though.”

“I’ll take to smelling any kind of fruit instead of a fucking hobo,” Jaime said, sniffing under his shirt. “And you are right about the bath. I do need one. Will you be joining me?”

This time, she swatted him with a towel. He laughed. “Get your stinky ass out of here!”

“Fiiine, wench. But don’t forget I offered. Maybe you also need to relax. Or at least change your panties because they sure are in a twist. You might appreciate roomier ones.” He smirked before walking away. “I sure will!”

“Asshole!” She called after him, shaking her head as he wiggled his hips before disappearing behind her bedroom door. A smile stubbornly pulled at the corners of her lips. She sighed loudly, sweating as she yielded.  


****

The mango-scented bubbles was just what he needed, Jaime thought in the bath. It reminded him of an exotic, tropical getaway. The bath salts tingled his skin too, and encouraged his stiff, tensed muscles to relax. Motel beds were not exactly known for best mattresses. Let alone clean ones.

He looked around the bathroom. It was plain, white tiles and beige walls—a far cry from his luxurious bathroom with taps and knobs made of actual gold. But Brienne’s tub was long and wide. The generic pink towels in the shelf and the one hanging by the sink, the presence of her creams and lotions, and the familiar, wholesome fragrance, gave the Spartan room a homey, cozy feel.

It was such fun teasing her about the granny panties on the shower rack. Brienne Tarth was not the kind of girl to wear a thong. Her efficiency ran down to her taste in intimate wear. The pink towels with the lacy edges surprised Jaime but he suspected this was as traditionally feminine as she would go. It was a nice little footnote to the woman he had come to know in the last couple of hours.

His boner had receded a little when they walked to her apartment but it came back with a vengeance once they were inside and he saw her very much lived-in place. He liked messy girls. Scarves on the bed. Shoes all over. Rejected clothes. Make-up staining the vanity. Brienne wasn’t very messy but he found it cute how she panicked. It was enough to get hard again—and he almost regretted impulsively dancing with her. Almost. She had looked so stiff and unsure and he wanted her to be comfortable with him. He did come close to inviting further disaster when he dipped her and saw her tight nipples. Her breasts were small—she was practically flat-chested, he discovered—but suspected her nipples were plump to be so prominent. If she had. . .if she had signaled some interest, his lips would be around them in no time at all, and his fingers deep in her pussy.

Something told him that Brienne didn’t engage with a lot of people unless she had to—like in her work. There was something closed and untouchable about her, which he read more as a necessary armor rather than something she was born with. Her defensive reply about not keeping any stuff from old boyfriends was a clue.

For as long as Jaime had known women, it was unavoidable for them to keep a memento or two from a previous relationship, as long as it was a good one. He had seen no trace of a former lover so far and Brienne’s reply confirmed it. Either she was a person who moved on refusing baggage or her relationships ended badly. He hoped, for her sake, she was the former. Hurt sapphire eyes  would be the most tragic thing to see and anyone responsible for it did not deserve forgiveness. Anyone who broke her heart.

Though alone with his thoughts, it was strange that Cersei was not creeping up at all. She came on only when reminded and even that, she was something he had to willfully summon. Other than that. . .she just didn’t. Though only a very short time had passed, she was pushed further and further back into the archives of his mind, where he hoped she would soon be buried by dust.

It was a good thing, he supposed. He had been in love with a dream. He was waking up. His heart would mend faster.

As the bath continued to soothe him, he heard the soft pad of footsteps outside. The wench, he thought, amused at the nickname he had for her. He heard the creak of a closet being opened and the rattle of hangers. She must be picking out clothes for him. She was not the type to sleep in silk but roomy pajamas. Probably printed with unicorns, or cupcakes. . .he grunted as his cock hardened in the water. She used the product too because it was only half-full when he first found it. It was a lovely scent and far lovelier when sniffed right from pale skin adorned with freckles.

He wondered if it was the height of rudeness to get off in her bath. He had been torturously hard since seeing her. Being without sex for so long was punishing him worse by the hour that he feared just a glance of her eyes would have him spewing all over.

He leaned back against the makeshift pillow towel and reached for his cock under the water. Seven hells. He had never been this hard. As soon as his fingers wrapped around his member, he was quick to a pink, thick-lipped, big mouth closing around the plump mushroom head. Shy kisses, he thought, his fingers fluttering lightly around the swollen flesh. She would be shy and the color of freshly-plucked strawberries. Her mouth hesitant but her tongue wet and so bold, so, so bold in catching every drop from him. Sapphire eyes dark with lust.

Soft kisses slowly progressing to hungry, delirious ones. . .

“Jaime?” Brienne suddenly knocked on the door. He yelped and jerked his hands away, splashing a small swell of water toward the floor. Cursing, he stuck his hands to the sides.

“Come in,” he called out.

“Uh, no.” Brienne answered from behind the door. “Do you have a towel there?”

Jaime nodded then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he grunted, sighting those folded in the shelf by the sink. “I do.”

“Oh. Um, good. I left clothes for you in the bed. I’ll just be in the living room.”

He listened to her walking away and sighed loudly. Miserably, he glared at his cock under the bubbles.

He was still fucking hard.

He sighed loudly, running his hands up his hair before straightening up. The water was no longer as warm but it was clearly not a problem for his traitorous, stubborn cock. He got up, spilling water onto the rug. Cold was quick to dissipate the warmth from his body and he hopped on one foot and the other going toward the towel. Still dancing around, he rubbed it roughly on his hair, then his skin. The towels were old and faded, stiff rather than fluffy. But they were dry and would suffice. He wrapped it around his waist then hugged himself, still shivering. Then he spied a thick, pale blue robe hanging at the door. He practically dashed toward it, wrapping himself in its fluffy, fragrant warmth and leaving the towel draped around his shoulders. He glanced at the toothbrush and toothpaste collected in a glass by the sink and went out to look for Brienne.

He found her on the couch, curled up on her side with a book. Because of his bare feet, they barely made any sound on the floor, so she went on reading. She had changed out of her fitted sweater and jeans into a cozy gray sweater, black leggings. Feet clad in thick purple socks peeked out of the edge of the dark crimson blanket.

He wasn’t into feet but he couldn’t look away from her graceful arches.

“Wench,” he said, grinning as she jumped and sat up, clutching the book to her breasts. Her short hair was all askew and her cheeks were the color of cherry-flavored lollipop. “Sorry to interrupt your reading but would you happen to have a spare toothbrush?”

“Oh.” Her face turned a deeper shade of pink. She looked quite lovely, he thought. “Um, behind the medicine cabinet. You’ll find a spare.”

“Alright. Thanks. What are you reading?”

She showed him and he grinned. _Winter Is Coming._ “I don’t believe this. You read Sam Tarly too? You’re ahead of me, though. I’m only on book two.”

Her surprised brought a lovely raspberry flush on her cheeks. “I won’t spoil book three for you, then. But it gets really good.”

“Looking forward to it. I’ll get dressed then join you.”

“Oh—kay.  .”

Jaime whistled as he returned to the bathroom. The toothbrush was where she had promised it was. He was quick with the brushing, and even swished mouthwash so he felt like a brand-new human being for the first time, new haircut and all and with a boner that had gone away a little. Resuming the tuneless music he was whistling, he grabbed one of her panties from the curtain rack and went to her bedroom.

Her bed was king-sized with a tall, wide headboard painted in dark wine. It was covered in olive green sheets and matching pillowcase. Two bedside tables flanked the bed. They had antique-looking lamps but only one was piled high with books—more suspense novels, he discovered. The other had a photo frame of a laughing blond young man with a blond little girl in his arms. A closer look told him this was Brienne—the freckles gave her away. She had the man’s particular shade of sapphire eyes. Her father, he realized.

He put on her panties and inspected the clothes. She was right about their similar sizes. The black track pants fit him perfectly although they flared beginning from the knee. He put on a white t-shirt then the bright blue sweater. The clothes were old but comfortable. He was feeling better and better, and looked it, he realized when he fixed his damp hair in front of the mirror.

Brienne was still on the couch reading. She was too engrossed to hear him, and too late did she react when he suddenly joined her, lifting her legs out of the way before putting them on his lap. He smiled at the deep tomato color flaring from her cheeks so he tickled her foot. She gasped and jerked it away but he was quick to grab her by the ankle.

“You’re as skittish as an untrusting mare, wench,” he teased her, holding her feet firmly in his hands.

“Possibly because I knew you were going to compare me to a horse,” she retorted, putting the book away, tent-up. She sat up, trying one again to pull her legs back but he was having none of it. Her feet did have deep arches. “What do you want, Jaime?”

“It’s only a quarter to ten. Don’t tell me you go to bed this early?”

The deep, berry shade of her face confirmed his suspicion. He stroked the arch of her foot with his finger and she froze.

“Let’s do something else. I haven’t had anyone to talk to and you clearly read until you fall asleep. Let’s shake up the usual repertoire.”

“I’m not going out to get drunk, if that’s what you want.” She declared.

“Nah. A total waste of the lovely mango bath I just had,” he assured her. “Don’t you have a board game or something? Or cards?” His finger slid under her calf and she gasped. Casually, he murmured, “How about strip poker?”

“Pass.”

“Strip chess?”

“No.”

“Naked Twister?”

Her forehead scrunched. “If you want to remain nude, Jaime, you shouldn’t have put clothes on.”

He laughed. She was easy to embarrass and to rile up but she was feisty. Pure wench, indeed. He congratulated himself on giving her the perfect nickname.

“Have you called your brother?” She asked. She lay back against the pillows and relaxed, having ceded ownership of her feet to him for the moment. She stacked her hands under her head, causing her sweater to flatten on her chest. He discovered two things: her nipples were still hard and her tummy was also freckled.

Maybe he shouldn’t have her feet so close to his lap.

“Can I call him tomorrow?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

This was a dangerous thing to say. “Whatever I want?”

Completely unaware of her word’s effect on him, or her, she nodded. “This is your time, Jaime. You should just be doing what you want and fuck everything else.”

Damn. She should never say that word within anyone else’s hearing. His cock agreed.

“What you should be doing is just going with wherever your heart takes you. Don’t think about consequences. You can be selfish. You can just be, unfiltered and raw. The gods know you deserve it, Jaime, after being fucked over like that.”

_Seven hells this woman was a born and raised torturer._

Cersei hooked him with her beauty and elegance. Brienne had the power to turn his world upside-down without even thinking about it. Cersei was a careful, calculated seductress, knowing what to wear and what to say to get him hard. Brienne was in old, faded sweats, with just her sapphire eyes and dirty mouth and he had not been able to shake off his erection.

“When the last guy I was with left, my best friend Margaery told me that the fastest way to get over him was to nail a Mr. Right Now. No need to know his name. No need to know anything about him. Just use him as a stud for as long as I want.”

He wasn’t sure about doing that to Brienne. Her eyes and her voice, all of her awakened a need in him for more of her. He was filing away her preferences without even being aware of it. Spicy Chinese food. Mango scents. Suspense thrillers. He couldn’t get enough.

But fucking her brains out? He was on board with that. Her long legs would be heaven around his waist.

“Did you?” He asked her softly.

She turned the color of ripe apples and shook her head. “I’m not like that, Jaime.”

“Then you shouldn’t be advising me on something you have no direct experience in.” He went back to stroking her feet.

“I’m sorry. But. . .it works for Margaery. Maybe it will work for you too? I just. . .” Her voice faltered. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, Jaime. She was a piece of shit.”

He had to smile. “You might not know the kind of advice you give. . .intimately, wench, but you are one hell of a cheering squad. Now, this business of fucking someone to get over a turd,” he said. “Is it wise? Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean someone should be.”

“Then you should make it clear to each other what it’s all about.” She said. “Just sex.”

“Fucking.”

She blushed. “Um, yes. Fucking.”

“I don’t know. It seems sad.”

“But it’s just. . .fucking.”

“Thing is, wench, I don’t know how it is to just fuck.” At her confused expression, he added, “Believe it or not, I don’t sleep with someone unless I care for her. True story.”

She snorted. “You’re pulling my leg.”

He grinned and did exactly that. “This time I am.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never had hot, meaningless sex? Or meaningless sex? You’ve not been with anyone just because you wanted to fuck her and she felt the same? No one-night stands?”

He shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint, wench.”

“But Jaime, you can’t afford to care for anyone so soon. You’re still healing. You need relief. You need to forget, to escape. You can’t. . .no, you can’t be with someone the way you usually are. You have to be able to look at a person, come up to her, explain to her your terms and see if she agrees. That can’t be hard for you. It’s using someone with their permission.”

He squirmed, reminded of the stiffness between his legs.

“For someone who herself doesn’t know how to fuck someone just because she wants him, you do sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Marge nags me about it all the time.”

“Why don’t you do it to shut her up?”

“I know what I look like.” She looked away. “You said it yourself.”

He wanted to kick himself in the balls. “I _am_ sorry. That was mean and you do not deserve it at all.”

“You’re the only one to apologize.”

Fuck. This was a usual thing for her? To be called ugly?

“Thank you, Jaime. I appreciate it.”

Brienne Tarth should never be made aware of the kind of power she possessed. She was turning his world upside-down again. Undoing him by not doing anything but being herself.

“I hate that I said it.”

“I know you do. I can see it.”

She started to sit up and blushed. “Um, Jaime. I’d really like to have my legs back. I think we could use another round of beer.”

He smiled but reluctantly let her go. She gave him one in return as she swung her legs to the side and got up. He admired the muscles flexing at the back of her thighs as she walked.

“You really think meaningless sex is the way to get over someone?” He asked, picking up her book from the sofa and putting it on the coffee table.

“Marge swears by it. I haven’t field-tested it myself, as I told you.” Brienne pulled out two bottles of beer, fridge door obscuring the high, delectable shape of her ass for a moment.

“Too bad. I really could use first-hand testimony.”

She grinned as she popped open the bottles. “Hmm. Let’s see.” She mimed dialing and shaped her fingers into a phone. “Hello, Marge. This is Brie. I’m asking for a friend. Is hot, meaningless sex with a stranger really the way to get over someone you loved? Does it work all the time?”

 “Ah. That’s the thing. It has to be a stranger.” Jaime rejoined.

“It can’t be a friend. It can complicate stuff. Someone falls for the other. Someone expects more.” Brienne tucked the lips of the bottles between her fingers as she scooped up coasters. Sitting next to him, she put the coasters down and handed him one of the beers. She tipped hers toward him.

“To getting over our shitty exes,” she told him.

He tapped his bottle against hers. “To getting over our shitty exes.”

They sipped their beers. As it soothed the odd tightness in his throat, Jaime glanced over at Brienne. She seemed determined to drain the beer in a single swig, her throat muscles straining from the effort. He sighed and reached over to take it from her.

“No shitty ex is worth the hangover, wench,” he said, setting their beers on the table. She flushed and nodded.

“You’re right. Sorry.” She lay back on the sofa again and, to Jaime’s surprise, put her feet back on his lap. He had no complaints.

This was really nice, actually. Bundled up in thick, cozy sweaters in a warm, homey apartment with ice-cold beer. Good company. Feeling reborn. He couldn’t remember feeling anything like this in his mansion that dripped with luxury in every corner. He glanced at Brienne, thinking how perfect she looked in this worn backdrop. She would stick out in the contemporary design of his place.

Now _that_ made him sad.

“I disagree with Marge’s advice,” Brienne suddenly said. “But. . .sometimes, I miss it, you know.”

“What do you miss?” He played with her toes under the sock as he looked at her.

Her face was the color of overripe berries. “S-Sex.”

“You miss sex?” He frowned. “How can you miss sex unless. . .”

“Oh, shit.” Brienne suddenly retracted her legs from him and brought them to her chest to hug them fiercely. Jaime was quick to do that math.

“Forget what I said. Damn it. Fucking---” she muttered, burying her face in her knees.

“When was the last time you got fucked, wench?” He demanded, trying to pull her legs away from her face. “Tell me.”

“No!”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be as bad as mind. I’ll even go first. I haven’t had sex in eight months, wench.” As she turned to look at him, he nodded grimly. “I wish I’m lying but it’s true. Unless you count jerking off.”

Brienne startled him with a wail. “All the more why I’m _never_ telling you!”

“How bad can it be?” He demanded. “Ten months? A year?” He paused and asked carefully, “Two years?”

“Worse,” she moaned.

“More than two years?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Two and a half years?”

“Fuck yourself in the ass, why don’t you?”

“Two years and ten months?”

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck you, Jaime.”

“Tell me.”

She bit her lip and turned the brightest red he had ever seen. “F-five years and—and—six months.”

Then she buried her face in her hands.

“Wow,” Jaime said after a moment. He was glad to be sitting down. “I honestly never thought someone would have it worse than me.”

“Shut up, Jaime!” She removed her hands from her face and glared at him. 

He was floored with how long it had been for her. Floored and also annoyed because his cock thrust eagerly against the pants. He’d put his head between his legs if not for his fucking erection. Beside him, Brienne wearily straightened her legs but remained lying on her side.

“I’m sorry for badgering you.”

“It’s too late now, is it.”

“Well, I’m sorry, alright? I only thought of myself for a second. If it helps, if you came up to me and asked me to fuck you, I won’t say no, Brienne.”

“Oh, please. That’s worse than your apology.” She grumbled. “I miss fucking, Jaime, but I’m not so pathetic I’ll take a pity fuck.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And you’re lying. Really? If we didn’t know each other and I approached you and asked to have your cock for the night you won’t laugh at me?”

He hung his head. Brienne grunted. “I knew it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t. I told you. I don’t engage in casual sex.”

“That’s a load of bull. You?”

“Hey, why are you angry at me?” Jaime snarled. “Most women would have been impressed but you’re making me feel like shit for insisting on some principles on fucking, wench. Alright. So, if we didn’t know each other and you asked me to fuck you, I’ll say no. I’ll say no even, if, at that time, I wasn’t with anyone. I’ll say no not because of your looks. Let’s make that fucking clear. I don’t fucking believe in casual sex. I work long, hard hours and everyone wants a piece of me. I’m not going to willingly make myself into a piece of meat, let alone do the same to someone. I’m sorry for trying to be decent, wench. I’m sorry it doesn’t pass whatever fucking standards you have. But if this is the kind of break I’m in for, I’d rather take my chances before the vultures.”

He stood up and stomped to the bedroom. His clothes were in the hamper in the bathroom so he went to retrieve them. When he returned to the bedroom holding the bundle of his belonging in his arms, Brienne was there.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was small.

“Filing my nails. What do you think?” He snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

Fuck her. He was ready to storm out but those three words and his heart was in pieces. But he glared at her still. She grimaced and hugged herself, drawing her sweater tight across her chest. He nearly groaned out loud at her hard nipples pressing against the fabric. Damn it!

“It was a terrible thing to say and I shouldn’t. . .I was wrong to question your choices, Jaime. First, I don’t have the right to. And second, you’re clearly a good guy but I can’t seem to stop trying to make you into a bad one. I’m sorry. I really am.” Watery blue eyes looked at him. A Into his soul. Gods damn it.

Then her lower lip quivered.

_Fuck._

“Don’t go, Jaime. Stay.”

Her hand climbed up to his shoulder and stayed there. “Please. I hope you’ll stay.”

He was holding her hand before he knew what he was doing. “Alright.”

She squeezed him back. “We run hot and cold.”

He had to laugh. Still holding her hand, he sat down at the foot of her bed. She went with him.

“It’s all the unreleased tension,” he observed.

“Unreleased? I think it’s pretty much out there now.”

He continued holding her hand. Her palm was rough and her fingers were long but knobby. _She even has freckles here,_ he marveled.

She had freckles on her stomach. He wondered where else she was covered with them. Her thighs? Her breasts? He looked at her. Her skin was blotchy and it looked like she had cried for a moment. Hesitantly, he reached up to cup her cheek.

He felt her freeze but quickly relax. She pressed his hand to her cheek, closing her eyes. When was the last time someone showed her some affection? He wondered. It was a look he knew well. He was starved too.

She opened her eyes and took his hand away from her cheek. “Um, do you still want to play poker?”

He shook his head, realizing what he wanted to do with her. What he really wanted to do. They both needed it.

“Checkers? Chess? Twister?”

He shook his head again.

“You’re not the sort who relaxes by baking, are you? Because I don’t have any baking ingredients here.” Her frown did nothing to her face but he was tempted to kiss the crease between her eyebrows.

Another shake of his head, this time with a smile.

“Well, what is it?”

“I want to fuck you.”

Big green eyes stared back at a stunned blue gaze. He held his breath, waiting for the slap of her hand on his cheek.

Cheeks turned very bright pink and swollen lips parted. Jaime stared back at her with a mix of dread, his eyes flickering to her big hand, then back to her face, and hope.

Brienne’s shoulders rose and fall and her cheeks became a more vivid pink. Her mouth opened, giving him a sweet peek of the tip of her pink tongue.

_“Oh.”_

 

******  
  
Jaime tasted bitter and fresh, of beer and toothpaste but Brienne’s tongue delved deep past his lips, intoxicated by his taste and the scent of her shower crème on his skin. He held her by her chin, by her shoulder, her hands climbed to his shoulders, one going higher for her fingers to push through his thick, soft hair.

She was doing this.

_They were really doing this._

He didn’t have to prepare a thorough song-and-dance to convince her. He was to the point: _“I want to fuck you.”_ The direct approach continued: _“We’re not friends. We’re not exactly strangers. But fucking can still be meaningless enough but not so much that either of us would forget it. We’ve reached a degree of respect and trust that usually takes a while, wench. So, fucking won’t be that meaningless. I don’t want it to be. But we need this to move on. I want to fuck you. I’ve been wanting to fuck you, wench. I want you to fuck me back.”_

And his last point: _“Tonight is when we do stuff we’ve never done before. When was the last time it happened to you?”_

 She never colored past the lines. Inviting Jaime to her apartment, getting as involved as she already was so quickly. . .she was in a new territory and making up the rules as she went along. Her heart was at full gallop and she was trembling but never, never until this moment, had she been so absofuckinglutely sure. She moaned through their kiss as his had slipped under her sweater, her tank, caressing her warm stomach. A warm palm pressed over her quivering, tensed muscles.

She whimpered when he suddenly broke the kiss but he kept his lips close, grazing hers as he groaned.

“Do you want this, wench? Tell me you want this. I don’t. . .I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.” His cock was digging between their clothes yet she knew she spoke the truth. “I don’t want you scared.”

As he spoke, his hand trailed toward her breast. She arched against his touch, her tremors gentling. When his thumb brushed the swollen peak of her nipple, she gasped against his mouth.

“F-Fuck me. . .” she begged, blushing profusely. Her breath feathered his lips.

“Gods, Brienne,” he growled, his eyes closing briefly before crushing her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Mouths devoured each other as they wrestled with clothes. His sweater was the first to fly off, along with the t-shirt. Her eyes gleamed with appreciation as her palms ran up and down his chest, familiarizing herself with the rough texture of the curls there, the ridges of his abs. He grinned and kissed her before tonguing her down her throat, kissing her breasts through her sweater as he yanked her panties and leggings down.

She gasped at the cool shaft of air drifting across her pussy before his palm closed around it. She blushed, hearing the ruffle of hairs as he rubbed her. His mouth slanted over hers again, his tongue thrusting inside as his finger trailed up and down her moistening slit. Her legs curled, her toes pointed forward. She embraced Jaime, her hands stroking lovingly up and down his arms, his warm, firm back, back to his chest. His arms closed around her waist and she whined at the loss of his hand on aching heat between her legs.

“Wench,” he whispered, turning them on their sides and pulling her leggings further down. She blushed as she toed off her socks. Jaime grinned and tossed her clothes away. He took one of her legs to hook around his waist and his hand returned to her pussy, a finger sliding between her slit then inside.

_“Jaime.”_

She found herself on her back soon after, gasping against his tongue as his finger pumped roughly and quickly in her pussy. Her thighs clamped around his hand as her pleasure spiked and he laughed through their kiss, urging her to open, to spread, to let him feel her get wet. She blushed, mortified at the moisture sliding out of her at his words. “That’s my wench,” he said huskily, licking her cheek before kissing her chin, her throat. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under her jaw, where her pulse beat rapidly.

Her legs fell wide open.

Jaime rained kisses around her face, her neck, two fingers now fucking her with increasingly rapid strokes that stole her breath. She stared at the rapture on his face with disbelief. His emerald eyes were soft, almost half-closed, and he wore a hint of a beautiful, sexy smile, with those lethal dimples.

Her sexual history was embarrassingly short. In those two instances, neither man looked as Jaime did—pleasured at giving her pleasure, encouraging her while looking in her eyes, at her face. He never stopped looking at her face.

She blushed and turned her head to the side at the wet sounds of his fingers plundering her pussy. Her breathing hitched, sweat poured down the sides of her face as she felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. Her top grew heavy with her sweat. She was startled, thrown to another level of disbelief at how fast this was going to be. How _she_ was going to be when it was usually so labored or, more often that she’d like to admit, nothing at all. Nothing but growing frustration. She wailed, her thighs once again closing around his hand and her hips thrusting roughly.

“Are you coming?” Jaime rasped against her lips.

She nodded, wide-eyed. “I need to turn around. Let me turn around.” Her hips lurched sharply, trying to twist.

“Wench, it’s nice you’re offering your ass but later—” Jaime started to say. She growled.

“No! I—all fours. It’s how I do it—I mean, it’s the only way---”

She tried wrenching herself away from him but he shook his head and pressed his body heavily on her.

“That’s the only way you come?” He asked.

She was breathing harshly, practically wheezing. She shook her head. Speaking through gritted teeth, she uttered, “No one wants to look at me. . .when it’s done.”

He stared at her, frowning in confusion first before his face cleared. _“What the fuck, Brienne?”_

“Let me turn on my stomach,” she begged.

“No!” He growled. “When I fuck you, I want to look at you.” He kissed her hard on the mouth, drawing a whimper from her. He pulled back. “I want those eyes on me. I want to watch you. I like looking at you, wench. I’ll only let you turn around if that’s what works for you.”

She blushed and shook her head. It made her feel like an animal in the barn, skewered thoughtlessly.

“Alright. That’s clear. When we fuck, we always look at each other. Agree?”

“But, Jaime, are you sure—”

In answer, he kissed her again. She kissed him back.

Then he pulled away, breathing quickly. “Do you have condoms?”

“Um. . .check the bathroom. I don’t know if they’re expired—”

“They better not be, wench, or you’d better have saran wrap,” Jaime said, removing himself from her with great reluctance.

Brienne, whose chest was tight with desire and also dread for the moment she would have to turn around, burst out laughing upon seeing the very promising tenting of Jaime’s pants. He narrowed his eyes at her as he stomped to the bathroom. She drew the blankets to her waist, giggling as she heard him rifling through the medicine cabinet. Then he was back, carrying the long, bright yellow strips of Kingslayer condoms.

She sat up. “Are those the only condoms there?”

“Yeah.” Jaime put them on the bed and lowered his pants. Brienne covered her mouth as his cock was revealed.

 _Bless the Seven._ Or Eight.

“Did you have to bring them all?” She asked as Jaime took a square packet from the strip and went to her, cock and balls bobbing.

“I figured that with you not having fucked in years and me being forced into celibacy for months, we have a lot of fucking to catch up on, wench.” He replied, grinning at her and his eyes lighting up. He took the blanket from her and tossed them to the foot of the bed. She squeaked but he was already between her legs.  He kissed her soundly on the mouth and she moaned, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“How much fucking?” She asked, licking his lip.

“Until neither of us can stand,” he whispered. He held up the packet to her. “Will you do the honors, wench?”

She nodded and carefully tore it open. She bit back a smile at Jaime’s frown upon seeing the color of the condom.

“Pink?”

“Bridal shower,” she explained. “Shall I put it on you?”

“Next time,” he told her, taking it. He held his cock with one as he rolled the latex down with the other. Brienne gulped. His cock was an absolute, _beautiful_ monster.

“I just want you to know that usually, I spend quite a lot of time on foreplay,” he said, settling between her legs again. She blushed and spread them wide. “I’m sorry but. . .this is going to be fast for me.”

“Fast is good. Besides, it’s been so long since I did this I won’t know bad from good anymore.”

“Oh, no, no, wench. This is going to be fast but I’m gonna make sure you’ll have the time of your life.”

She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. “Such arrogance.”

“Uh-huh. Eyes on me, wench.” She stared up at him and he smiled at her. “ _Fuck._ You have the most astonishing eyes I’ve ever seen.”

She blushed and tilted her hips up. “Fuck me, please?”

“Gladly.” He whispered, kissing her. His hips moved back then suddenly surged forward. Her mouth fell open.

_“Oh.”_

“Eyes one me, wench.”

He lunged back then forward again, plunging deeper in her this time. Her eyes closed and her legs tightened around him, her ankles crossing at the middle of his back. _Bless the Ten?_

_“Jaime.”_

She couldn’t keep her eyes fully open, taken by the wildness of their fucking. Jaime’s breath washed over her cheeks, her lips, slumberous emerald eyes refused to leave her face. His cock drove in and out of her. She begged him to grab her legs, to pull them over his shoulders. The new position pushed his cock deeper, the girth and length straining her tight pussy. She moaned and cried out for him, blushing as he gasped at how wet she was, at how good she felt. He spoke in a guttural voice laced with awe, groaning against her lips, gasping her name as on and on and he fucked her, driven half-made with her tightness and the wetness pouring out of her. She rocked against him, quick to find and match his rhythm in a position she had never tried until him.

He grabbed her, giving her an obscene open-mouthed kiss as they approached the peak of pleasure. She held on to him, wanting everything he could give her, ready to take it all and keep them in her heart. “Wench, wench,” he chanted as he fucked her, grinning blearily as she blushed through his words, at the intimate, lewd squelch of his cock ramming hard in her pussy.

He pressed his lips on her, his kisses sweet and rough at the same time. Her mouth fell open, her tongue tracing around his lips as she gasped and whimpered when his hand reached between them. She paused, wondering what he was going to do. Before she could ask, his finger was there, firm and determined, caressing a rough, knee-melting circle on her clitoris. Her eyes flew wide open as new, wonderful sensations overtook her body.

Gods, it had never been like this. She never thought she could feel like this!

She shouted in amazement and surprise as white-hot flames slammed right into her body, right at the center where they were joined. Jaime yelled at the same time too, flattening her on the mattress and fucking her with breathtaking, furious zeal. His eyes were also huge and disbelieving and together they rode through the last waves of their release.

“Brienne,” he gasped, fucking her hard, sending her head banging against the headboard. She grunted and slammed her hand over the slab of wood to prevent herself from hitting it again. _“Brienne.”_  

She felt like being tossed in a mad, raging sea and his cock deep in her pussy was her anchor. Her eyes flashed at him. 

He lunged in her a final time before suddenly freezing. She kissed him around the neck, licking the droplets of sweat there. As he sighed, the strained muscles in his neck relaxed and he melted in her arms. She held him tightly, stunned at what just happened.

She knew what it was. She was just beginning to think it was a myth. Jaime, his head resting on her shoulder, nuzzled against her like an overgrown puppy. He kissed her before falling beside her.

They lay on their backs, panting as one.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Yeah,” he agreed _. “Oh, fucking yeah.”_


	5. Chapter 5

 

When the pants ceased, a parched throat followed. Brienne stared longingly at her leggings thrown to the far side of the room. She envied the women, particularly those in foreign films, who sauntered about nude straight after fucking or just because the sun felt wonderful. She had never been completely comfortable in her own skin and ensured the barest opportunities to see herself as she was born.

But this time, the lights were on. She clutched the blanket to her breasts. Her sweater, which was a furnace in the aftermath, became a thick, heavy layer of cool, damp cloth. Her eyes darted carefully to Jaime—who was lying on his side and grinning at her.

“Five years, huh?” He remarked, chuckling as she flushed despite the goosebumps forming on her skin.

She wanted to pull the sheet over her head. “Isn’t it obvious,” she muttered.

“No.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Excuse me?”

To her surprise, Jaime threw one leg over her hips and cuddled up tightly. His eyes shone, making her breathe deeper, faster.

“Now, I’m not implying you’ve been around the block way more than usual, wench. I want that clear. But I have to say. . .it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since you. . .” His voice trailed off and he smiled again. She felt the flames eating up her face go all the way down to her neck, her chest.

Suddenly, his hand fell right on her pussy, covered under the blanket, and patted her. Then squeezed. She gasped. “The only indication it’s been a while is you’re tight. That’s one honey trap I don’t want to be rescued from, if you catch my drift.”

Was he. . .he was. . .wasn’t he? _Complimenting her?_ As she continued to stare at him in both shock and suspicion, he continued squeezing her through the blanket. It was a fight to not keep his hand between her legs.

“And you were so, so wet.” He added, sounding awed. “Fucking wow, wench. Wet and tight.”

“Is this really happening?” She wondered out loud. “Are you actually saying. . .you. . .you. . .” she gulped but surged on. _“You liked it?”_

“Yeah.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s what you have to say?”

Jaime frowned. “You asked and I said---”

“Yeah.”

His hand stopped caressing her but remained right there. “You want me to be more. . .descriptive?”

“Uh, no.” She said quickly, embarrassed. Blushing again and keeping the blanket around her, she sat up.

This was totally unexpected. Not only did a man insisted on looking at her during fucking. He _liked_ fucking her. Described her pussy as a honey trap he didn’t want to be rescued from. She felt a strange ripple in her pussy as she replayed his casual words.

_He liked fucking her._

Jaime sat up as she remembered how he felt _inside_ her. She had to spread her legs really wide and it was still a struggle getting him inside. The way Jaime fucked her would have sent a smaller, more delicate women to the ER. She was only slightly sore, which could be attributed to lack of. . .vigorous activity in the area. But she remembered, oh, how she remembered, how he kissed her, how his eyes were nearly black, shimmering coals as they stared at her intensely, his body on her, his cock inside her _, fucking her_ into the next century and the _next_. He had been so hard, the hardest and biggest cock inside her. Gods, she could still feel him. She still felt wide from his breath-taking, _awesome_ fucking.

Against her better judgement, a small smile played about the corners of her lips. She blushed and lowered her head but Jaime had already seen it. He leaned against the headboard wearing the smuggest grin. As she tried to clamp down on her smile, his hand caressed her spine through the sweater.

“Anyone who’s fucked you before me don’t know what they’re doing, Brienne. If they can’t fucking stand looking in your eyes when inside you, they deserve to have only their hands and  sex dolls until they die.” She looked at him and his hand cradled her cheek. “Only a crazy man would not want to fuck you,” he added softly.

She bit her lip, desperate to hide the shine in her eyes. “I’ll just get water.”

Before she could move, he put a hand on her thigh. “I’m doing it. Stay here. It’s cold. You might want to re-think keeping that sweater on. It’s all sweaty and damp.”

She watched him leap off the bed fully nude. He hopped from one foot and the other and hissed under his breath as he went to fetch her robe but the cold had no effect on his cock. She had to look away, blushing. It was still encased in the neon pink condom but holy hell, was he a _mouthful_ even at rest. She smiled as he wrenched her robe on and went to the bathroom, probably to get rid of the condom. Then he was out, robe belted. He seemed about to speak when he spied something by her bed.

This time, she couldn’t stop from laughing as he faced her in her pale blue robe printed with white stars and yellow fuzzy slippers. He rolled his eyes at her, flipped her the bird and sauntered out of the room, whistling.

“Just water?” He called out.

“Please!” She answered.

While Jaime was out, she hurriedly pulled off her sweater, shivering anew as the cold hit her bare back. She tossed it to the foot of the bed and snatched the blankets back on just as he padded toward the bedroom.

He paused by the door, smirked at her bare shoulders and whistled again, doing a little dance before putting the glass of water on her nightstand. He may look silly in her robe and slippers but he still looked fucking _hot_. Her nipples were hard just from looking at him.

He tossed her robe on a chair and kicked off her slippers before crawling back to bed and under the covers. Brienne murmured her thanks as she took a sip and Jaime, suddenly chuckling, slid his cool toes up her bare calf.

“Aaah! Jaime!” She squealed, nearly spilling the contents of the water on the bed. Back to the nightstand it went but she squealed again when Jaime threw himself on top of her.

“What?” She asked breathlessly.

He smiled and, in what was turning out to be a favorite way of answering, kissed her. Gods, she was such a loser, kissing him back easily, eagerly. She moaned his name, her leg climbing around his waist.

“I want to fuck you again,” he whispered, taking his mouth away from her to lower it to her nipples. Her blush spread all over her body he noisily sucked on still pink nipple, his legs listlessly nudging her thighs apart.

She cradled his head against her breasts, for a moment regretting that his hair was no longer long enough to be pulled. Jaime’s cheeks hollowed as he devoured her nipple and his hand lowered to her pussy.

 _“Jaime,”_ she breathed, rolling her hips, pushing her breast deeper inside his mouth.

“This time I’m going to be better,” he promised, eyes looking up at her briefly before his lips claimed her other nipple. She cried out.

He was going to be better? What was earlier? Average? A warm-up? Oh, boy, she thought, eyes widening briefly upon realizing that all she got earlier was a preview. _That was only a preview._ Maybe he will fulfill his promise to fuck her until neither of them can stand. Her toes curled.

She grabbed his head from her breasts to kiss him hungrily on the mouth. He laughed and cupped her face, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Okay, wench?” He whispered, resting his forehead on hers and pressing the tips of his fingers on her tingling lower lip. “I can fuck you again?”

She nodded before suddenly throwing him down the bed. She froze, worried it would turn him off. As she started to stammer an apology, he burst out laughing.

“Never been with a wildcat before,” he exclaimed.

She grinned before throwing herself right on top of him.

*****  
Seven hells, she was crushing him and his ass was getting numb from the weight of her heavy, trunk-like thighs and wide hips but Jaime kissed her back with fury, seizing her face tightly in his hands and forcing her lips to open, and open some more, until they were just tonguing and swallowing each other’s spit. She was an awkward kisser, still trying to find the rhythm that combined how she wanted to kiss, how she longed to kiss him and how he enjoyed to be kissed and to kiss. It was a dance where he was the master, but he was more than happy to lay back and feel her big, freckled body threatening to crack his ribs, break his back.

He tucked his hands under her arms and urged her up, putting her breasts right over his lips. Damn. She had the biggest, puffiest aureoles he’d seen, and plump, long nipples. So what if her breasts were too small to require a bra but her nipples! _Fuck._ He grabbed one of the sweet, freckle-splashed mounds and devoured a candy-pink nub. Brienne groaned. He drew long and hard, opening his mouth to take her entire breast in. She shrieked.

Gods, she tasted like winter: crisp, fresh, the perfect balm to the rage spewing out of him since the photos appeared online. He had turned the anger inside, letting it devour him until he found himself yelling in front of a neighborhood salon and seeing the most beautiful blue eyes.

He cupped her buttocks, squeezing the firm, taut flesh as he sucked her nipple with the hunger of a man so long deprived and bereft. Her moans drew his balls tight, her pussy hairs tickling the leaking tip of his cock threatened to undo him.

Being with Cersei was nowhere close to _this._ Whatever this was. For the longest time, he thought he was meant to hold only a woman with golden hair and eyes that were a near mirror to his, that his hands belonged to the softest curves. Never did he think that a giant wench with hair the color of a pale sun, jewels for her eyes and moonlight skin and a hard, muscular body could feel so good, and if he was ready to admit it, _so fucking right._

Jaime took his time releasing her breast, lingering oh so slowly and getting harder as her tremors increased, her gasps became sharper. He smiled at seeing her breast gleaming with his spit and her nipple hard and red as a ripe berry. As Brienne panted above him, he smiled up at her before gently blowing on her nipple.

_“Gods, Jaime.”_

He grabbed her and tossed her on her back, taking pleasure at her startled gaze and her pillowy lips parting. Another smile then he was tormenting her other nipple, licking and sucking it, pulling it away from her aureole just to hear her squeal. His hands wrapped around her wrists and kept them above her head, drawing her spine in a graceful arch that pushed her breast deeper in his mouth. He devoured her nipple with sloppy, wet kisses, kept her wrists pinned under his arm while the other lowered, fingers wrapping around the abandoned nipple. As he suckled from the other, she cried out, jerking against him so hard she nearly threw him off. He kept right on kissing and lashing his tongue on her swelling nipple, his hand falling to her waist, her hip, before finding the thick, rough curls of her pussy. His fingers coaxed her outer labia open.

And his middle finger encountered a thick, sticky pool.

He raised his head from her breasts and saw Brienne was the color of freshly-picked strawberries.

“Do you get this wet so fast?” 

“N-No. I don’t think—” She shook her head and tried to squirm away but he was having none of it. He pushed a finger in her pussy and growled.

“You’re dripping just from my mouth on your nipples?”

Seven hells but she had been fucking the shittiest bastards. Brienne Tarth had the tightest pussy he had fucked, and she was _pouring_. She was fucking pouring and it had been five years since she last had a fuck?

“I don’t know, Jaime. It’s never happened—” she started to say. Pleased, he kissed her hard on the mouth. He didn’t care that he was an arrogant, macho ass. She was wet. He made her wet. _Dripping wet!_

“You won’t be needing panties while I’m around, wench,” he told her, loving how she blushed. He licked her cheek, her throat, danced his tongue from one nipple then the other before trailing down her navel. “Pants too. Fuck. I hope to get to swim—”

“Jaime, that’s gross!” Brienne exclaimed.

“Ah. A proper wench I have,” he drawled before sweeping her legs open. Right. She was very hairy. But the dirty-blond curls looked so fucking sexy so wet, and against her pale, freckled thighs. _She even has freckles here!_ Eagerly, he started kissing each mark.

Brienne gasped and jerked with every press of his lips on her freckles. “W-What are you doing?” For a moment, he thought she sounded scared.

“Filing,” he answered, kissing the crease between her pussy and thigh reverently.

She was shaking all over. “I—I—Jaime no one has done this to me. Ever.”

He continued covering her inner thighs with kisses, brushing the tip of his nose against her curls. His cock was ready to murder him but he was going to take his fucking time. “Tasted your pussy?”

He smirked as her thighs _blushed._

“Y-Yes.”

He made his way toward her pussy, his tongue flicking out. She smelled of heady, womanly spice. Of arousal, shyness, and the unique, _Brienne_ of her. Her legs parted wide and he watched as more of her moisture dripped from her spread slit.

He pressed his tongue against it and licked.

_“Jaime.”_

_She is so pink here._

He nudged her labia open and sank his tongue fully in her, fucking her pussy.

_“Jaime!”_

Brienne went _wild._ She screamed and thrashed, flattening her feet on the bed and shoving her hips toward his open mouth, his eager, ready tongue. His hands pressed on her hips, trying to keep her still. She sobbed his name, she called the Seven, rolled and thrust her hips against the quick, rapid thrusts of his tongue. She was red and pink, sputtering nonsense as his lips wrapped around her clit and mercilessly sucked while his fingers took over and fucked her with merciless ferocity, sinking fully inside her at every thrust. Her fingers grabbed at his hair. She caressed his back. Scratched his shoulder. He laughed and continued tasting her, wanting all of her, wanting every drop to fall on his tongue and settle in his mouth.

Men are fucking idiots, he thought, taking a huge, greedy slurp of her pussy. _But not me._

 

******  
  
Even a blind person would know they had fucked all over the bedroom. Neon-pink condoms littered the floor and the bed. Books were knocked down the floor. The sheets on the bed were half-dragged off and a pillowcase joined the mess on the floor.

Brienne was all giddy and tingly. It was close to two in the morning but the buzz had yet to wear off. And from the tent under the sheets on Jaime’s side, he looked ready to go at any moment too. She glanced at their respective nightstands. Each had glasses of water and a bottle of beer. She’d had three already but the headache that always came after drinking so much had yet to show.

Nothing from this night was like anything.

As she lay on her side smiling contentedly at Jaime, he reached up to touch her hair.

“Why hair, wench?”

“Hmm?”

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, she lowered her head to kiss him all over his chest. She listened to his heart beat, the soft rumble of his laugh as she nuzzled him.

She straightened up and blushed as he pulled her closer, dragging one of her legs to rest across his thighs.

“Why did you want to become a hairstylist?”

“Why,” she murmured, adjusting herself. He continued playing with her hair, stroking her shoulder.

“My dad had a shop when I was growing up. A barber shop. It’s your usual neighborhood barbershop so it wasn’t anything fancy. He hardly got new customers but he had a dependable clientele who came every few weeks for a trim. We lived in an apartment above it.”

“Is it still there?”

“No.” Brienne hugged him. “I was twenty when he died. There were bills and debts and whatever his insurance covered went to those. I was in college but had to leave. I had to find work right away so I trained to be come a dental assistant. I didn’t think there would anything be more tragic than my dad dying but the three years I was handing tools to some guy who kept trying to look under my skirt were the worst of my life.”

She didn’t like talking about that time. She could talk about her dad because she loved him and his death still hurt. But the three years of working with Hyle Hunt, DDS, was a nightmare she still had a hard time believing she survived.  She blamed herself for a long time for what happened between them. It took age and grit to realize he had taken advantage of her. To this day, she couldn’t go to the dentist without having a panic attack.

Jaime looked at her, seeing the shadow fall on her face as she spoke. Brienne tried looking away but couldn’t.

She knew nothing about this man except for what was online. Yet she had not only let him in her house. He had been inside her in more ways than one. She didn’t know if the tightness in her chest was from anxiety or something else.

“I got into hairstyling because I saw how happy it made my Dad. He didn’t pioneer hairstyles but people trusted him, you know? And he was dependable, they listened to him. I’ve always admired him for the respect he earned at such a humble job.”

Her favorite memories of her father usually involved hair. He would fix hers in a braid or pigtails until she was old enough to do it on her own. After school, she would enter through the shop and there was the smell of hair and the sound of laughter from the clients, her dad, his employees. No matter who his client was, be it the mayor or the baker, Selwyn would make sure to kiss her on the forehead, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Sometimes, when the day was slow, he even let her sit on one of the chairs where she would read or color.

His barbershop was her sanctuary. When the kids made fun of her looks or her height, which was often, this was where she retreated. She felt protected even when her father was five feet away and working.

“He was happy and I was happy seeing him like that. When I had enough money, I went to beauty school and studied like hell. Cutting hair doesn’t seem to entail much but you need a license and all these certifications. I worked two years shampooing people’s hair, Jaime. Two years!” She shook her head, chuckling. “I wanted to die every time. Then there was an opening in another salon. I worked my way up to become senior hairstylist.”

“Then you decided to be your own boss.”

“Yeah. I still think I’m crazy.”

“Why on earth?”

“Because there are times when it’s really a lot. But I wanted my own business. That meant going to night school, picking up where I left off in college—I was studying Business Administration when I left. And even after I’ve saved, there were all these loans and permits. Insurance. No, I’m not complaining. But there are times when I wonder how easier life would be if I’m just an employee rather than a boss. People look up to you and you always have to be strong.”

“Sometimes, you don’t have to do it alone.” He told her, kissing her on the forehead.

“But I am alone,” she pointed out.

He didn’t say anything.

She touched him on the cheek. “Please don’t think I want a relationship, Jaime.”

“No, no,” he assured her quickly. He kissed her hand. “That’s not what I was thinking. I promise.”

“Okay.” She breathed.

“But. . .isn’t there a friend who can. . .and I’m not talking about someone to fuck. . .but who can help with the load every now and then?”

“There are. But they have their own thing.” Brienne looked thoughtful. “Let’s see. Margaery and her wife Yara are thinking of having a baby. Pod. . .he just came out of a really bad relationship—he cried on my lap in our bathroom. Sansa wants. . .bigger things. Missandei is a single mom. I know if I ask they’ll be there but they have stuff in their lives that they really have to put first and. . .I’d like that once in a while, my need comes first, you know what I mean? Without inconveniencing someone?”

She put her chin on his chest and gazed at him. He smiled at her. She didn’t know what to make of his smile. It was tender and intimate. The kind given to someone you’ve known for a long time.

“First of all, wench, when someone puts your needs first, it means he wants to. It can’t be an inconvenience for him then, is it?”

She flushed as his hand lowered to her back and caressed her suggestively. She laughed and tweaked his nose.

“You have a one-track mind.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not just talking about fucking. But fucking is a great way to forget insurance, taxes and babies to save for. . .ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” She leaned up and kissed him on the lips. “You know you’re better than that.”

He laughed. “You’re too nice.”

She kissed him again then settled back in his arms.

She had fucked twice tonight and knew for the first time how it felt to be a goddess. She blushed, curling her leg and feeling her pussy swell at the memory of Jaime’s tongue inside her, his hungry, growling sounds. She had been laughing and gasping, shocked and delighted at what was happening to her.

“You’re nicer than you think.”

Her eyes looked right into his and she reached under the blanket. Her fingers coasted over soft, pubic hair and Jaime held his breath.

He closed his eyes and gasped, “What are you doing?”

He was so beautiful, she thought, feeling her thighs get wet as she stroked him. “F-Filing,” she whispered before kissing him on the cheek. He grunted and his eyes flew open.

“I was right to call you wench,” he whispered, grinning at her.

She blushed and tossed the blanket to the foot of the bed.

Jaime Lannister was the finest male specimen she had laid eyes on. He was fucking _cut._ She hummed as she nuzzled the golden hairs on his chest, loving their sprinkly feel against her cheek, her lips. She liked that for a change, he was the one shuddering and murmuring incoherently. She snuck a peek at him, licking her lips as he swallowed tensely, the veins in his throat standing out. They called for her lips so she went there, kissing him lightly yet ardently, feeling the jump in his pulse under her kiss, moaning against his skin as he caressed her back, her ass. Jaime suddenly rolled over, putting her on her back. They exchanged a brief, searing look before he was kissing down her throat, plucking at her nipples.

Her nipples were still tender from his greedy kisses and rough touches yet her wail was of pleasure, her spine curving up as he played with her breasts and soothed the heat in her nipples with tongue and lips. Her fingers speared through his thick, soft hair, seeing the golden strands turn to nearly amber in the light before he raised his head to take her mouth.

“But you haven’t really answered my question,” he said through kisses. “Why hair? Just because it made your dad happy? Does it make you happy?”

His lips roamed across her face to brush against her cheek, then towards the back of her ear before biting the tip of the soft shell. She gasped and clung.

“I—I—” she tried to speak as his tongue slid in and out of her ear. His cock pressed against her stomach, his pubic hairs tangling with hers for a burn that made her think of rainbow-tipped sparks. Cheeks as red as a ripe watermelon met Jaime’s eyes when he turned to look at her, his golden hair falling over his forehead.

“Tell me why,” he urged her, kissing her lips.

He kissed down her neck, her shoulder. She barked out a laugh. “You’re not helping me think!”

Another kiss, this time on her left clavicle. “That’s not my problem.”

“If you,” she grunted, taking his head away from her breasts where he was mouthing one of her nipples, “would just give me a minute.”

He laughed and remained still, his head held firmly between her hands. “But be quick.”

“I meet a lot of people on the worst day of their lives. They’ve been cheated on. Someone they loved died. They come to my salon desperate to move forward. That a few inches snipped would make all the difference.”

She was speaking carefully now, feeling like she was on dangerous ground. Jaime was too still.

“I’m not some humanitarian, Jaime. I’m not. But I’m always happy to help. Being a hairstylist makes that possible. Sometimes, despite having all this love surrounding you and people willing to break their backs to help don’t help as much as a haircut could do. I don’t know how big of a help I am to them, but if they think it makes things easier. . .then I’m there.”

He stared at her for a moment. She wouldn’t blame him for suddenly wanting to leave, and hated herself for her answer. She’d made it seem like charity cases walked through the door all the time and she always helped by default.

But that wasn’t it. She cut hair because she helped best this way. And she was damn good at it too.

“But you don’t invite all of them up here,” he said. Was it a good sign he was still in her arms?

She shook her head.

“Not until you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

“Okay.” He said after another pause. “But with my next question, I want another honest answer.”

“I’ll answer as honestly as I can.”

“Are you letting me fuck you because you feel sorry for me?”

She shook her head. Opened her mouth to speak but shook her head again.

“Brienne,” he caressed her cheek. “You never have to be afraid when speaking honestly to me.”

She closed her eyes. She was shaking.

“Wench. . .”

He kissed her.

“I want you,” she whispered, feeling the last of her walls fall with the mightiest crash. “I—I want you. Want you—”

Jaime turned her face to kiss her. She gasped and kissed him back. “That’s all I need to know,” he said, grabbing her legs to wrap them around his waist. “That’s good enough for me, Brienne.”

“Jaime, _please_ ,” she begged him, moaning as he guided himself inside her. Her pussy was quick to clutch around him, squeezing with the mercy of the tightest vise. Jaime’s eyes bugged out  as he pounded inside her, fucking her with breathtaking, mind-blowing fury. She shrieked when he suddenly hauled her up, grabbing her around the ass to put her on his lap. She gasped, startled at the newness of the position, at how _huge_ he felt inside her. He gave her a full, dirty kiss on the mouth.

“You should never be without a cock,” he gasped as they rocked against each other furiously.

“Jaime,” she groaned, her breath bathing his face.

“Always fuck,” he rasped, moving faster. _“You should always fuck.”_

She moaned lewdly as she hit her peak, jerking and freezing against him for a moment while he continued fucking her. He panted wildly against her mouth, moving faster and faster. He groaned loudly and she felt the now-familiar warmth of him filling her. She wrapped an arm around him while her hand took him by the cheek, the light touch enough to get him to raise his chin and receive her kiss. She kissed him sweetly, deeply.

She woke up with the sun a few hours later, and to Jaime’s emerald eyes on her. She blushed and burrowed under the blanket, her legs moving gently. Still, a sweet ache bloomed from between them, making her turn even more red and for a smile to touch his lips.

“Wench.”

“Hi.” She wanted to touch the grooves of his dimples, to feel the lines around his eyes. Despite his disheveled hair and looking a little tired, he had a distinguished air.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“Alright. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I stay?”

She shifted close to kiss him on the lips. “Stay for as long as you need, Jaime.”

 

****  
While Brienne took a shower, Jaime hunted her fridge for something to eat for breakfast. She had eggs, some packages of sausages with spices so exotic he had never heard of them, and fruit preserves. He cooked the sausages and the eggs in the same fan and put bread in the toast. He found a bag of coffee that was only enough for a couple of cups so he poured all in the machine.

Jaime was patting himself on the back for the breakfast he managed to prepare, stepping back from the table to survey the setting when he caught a whiff of freshly-washed skin. He turned and found Brienne standing there, her hair damp and her body wrapped in the pale blue robe.

He didn’t know what was it about her that made her so fucking adorable and irresistible. She was plain in the face and too broad-shouldered but her full lips were a dream to kiss and her pussy was just bliss. His cock stirred under the pajamas he had borrowed from her.

Her skin was pink and freshly-scrubbed. Unaware of her effect on him, she said, “Um, I’ll just call the salon. Tell them I’m taking a personal day, if that’s okay.”

“Go ahead. I’ll just be here,” he told her. Fucking cute how she was asking him permission. He could just kiss her. And fuck her. Both. Always both.

If someone told him just a week ago that he will be in a stranger’s apartment wearing her pink pajamas printed with blue sailboats, he would call the person insane. Had it really only been a week? But that’s how long it was. It was exactly a week ago when the news of Cersei’s cheating broke out, sending him into hiding in the opposite wing of the house and refusing to speak to anyone else. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he left in the middle of the night.

While Brienne was in the shower, he had sent a message to Tyrion. “Safe,” was all he said. “I’ll call when I get back.” He hoped that was enough for his brother to stop worrying and sending him messages. He loved his brother but was part of the world he wished to forget, even for just today.

Brienne finished with her call, returning to him with her sparkly eyes and her endless legs peeking from between the gap of the robe. Jaime hoped he had enough control to let her eat first before mauling her to the floor and burying himself inside her again and again.

“Do you want to do anything today?” She asked as they ate.

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Do you want to go to a store or something. Or go for a walk later?” As Jaime continued to mull over his answer, she suddenly paled. “Um, it’s alright if I spend my personal day with you, right? I mean. . .I assumed because you’ll be staying---”

“Hey, hey,” Jaime put his hand over hers, realizing where she was going. She looked all flustered and, there was that word again, adorable. “I want us to spend the day together. But if there are things you must do, I’ll be happy to tag along. I have a new haircut. No one will recognize me right away.”

She blushed and stared at his hand. “N-No, I don’t want to go anywhere else. It’s cold and—and---I just really want to stay home.”

“Me too, wench. Me too.”

He squeezed her hand and was slow to let go. He resumed eating and so did she.

After cleaning up, Jaime coaxed her into going back to bed. She was blushing the entire time he was slipping the robe off her, and it took all he had to stop himself from warming the stiffened, red tips of her nipples. He got rid of his clothes and sat down behind her on the bed, spreading his legs so she would fit between them. He cupped her breasts and she turned to kiss him.

He played with her breasts with one hand, squeezing the mounds and pinching her nipples, drawing one sharp gasp and another from her lips. There were women who were responsive and there was one who was so fucking responsive it was unbelievable. Just to test out a theory, he sent his other hand down between her thighs, settling on her pussy. She quickly closed her thighs around his hand and he pulled away from their kiss. Big blue eyes stared back at him.

“Open your legs, wench,” he urged her with a smile. “Please.”

“It’s just that. . .I’m really not used to this much attention. . .down there.” She confessed, blushing hotly.

“Then it’s good we have an entire day to make up for it.” He kissed her and she sighed. Her legs parted.

She gasped against his mouth and surged against him as he palmed her. Gods, she was _drenched._ A sticky, sweet deluge of woman dripping from her. His cock hardened against her back as he pushed a finger inside her pussy, smirking through their kiss at the sexy and obscene squelch of flesh parting and thrusting. Her fingers tangled in his short hair, pulling a little to cause him pain but the woman in his arms was too hot, too fucking desirable. So, so wet. And greedy, he added with a smile, reminded of how her pussy came close to ripping his cock off. She was that tight. And now she was wrapped around his fingers with no promise of releasing them. He tried to pull back and thrust back inside but she was stubborn. He kissed her on the mouth and began to tease her clit with his thumb. She shuddered in his arms and fell heavily against his shoulder.

“Jaime,” she whispered, pushing down to her lips and kissing him hungrily. He liked it her shy kisses but also enjoyed her bold ones. He liked them deep, with lots of tongue, as she was doing. She was quite sloppy but she _wanted him._ He didn’t care if he was kissing the best kisser. It was pointless if she didn’t want him as much as Brienne did.

As they kissed, he pulled his fingers out. He set himself away and held out the gleaming fingers toward her.

“Taste yourself,” was his quiet command.

Her eyes widened and she turned pink. But she still surprised him when she took his fingers in her mouth and sucked.

Now he was gasping, stunned at how _beautiful_ she looked with her sapphire eyes glazed and bright, her pink lips wrapped around his fingers before licking him clean. Her blush deepened, spreading all the way to her breasts. As Jaime was imagining how her mouth would feel around him, she suddenly turned and grabbed a pillow. Then she was on her knees between his legs.

“I want,” she said, blushing and becoming even more beautiful in his eyes, “to take care of you this time.”

“Er, what do you mean?” he asked, thinking this was all a dream.

In answer, she smiled shyly and pressed kisses up and down his chest. He stiffened for a moment before gasping in surprise as she sucked on his nipple. His fingers crushed the bedding as she moved to take his other nipple, grazing it with her teeth _as he did with her._

This was one payback he was so fucking on board with.

His hands wrapped around her head so he could kiss her on the mouth, tasting her secret flavor on her tongue. He kissed her for wanting him, for helping him, for being who she was. He went on to kiss her on the shoulder, down her arm, until he reached her right hand and pressed more kisses there. This big, calloused hand, the fingers marked with ridges from being looped around scissors all day. He kissed them gently until she pulled him back to her lips and went on to kiss him down his shoulder, his nipple again, down his stomach.

Her hands went around his thighs and he thrust against her, eyes darting to the ceiling for a moment before he realized he couldn’t stand to not look at her. Then her breath stirring the curls around his cock brought him back, giving him the gift of her pale hair between his thighs, her incredible sapphire eyes looking up at him. He nearly lost it when she tentatively wrapped a hand around his cock.

Fuck. He didn’t want an unlined, smooth hand handline him after this. Callouses and ridges, rough palms. That’s what he wanted.

He almost smiled as Brienne stared too intently at his cock, as if studying it. She looked the same before cutting his hair, looking at it like and trying to decipher the right point of attack. He was so fucking hard it was both heaven and hell being held and stared at like this.

Then she surprised him by rubbing his cockhead around her nipple.

They both gasped and he growled at the feel of the turgid tip pressing against the slit in his cock, and he was fascinated as his pre-cum gleamed on her breast. Then she pulled his cock back towards her mouth, sending another shockwave through him as she circled the tip round and round her lips, as when applying with lipstick. He couldn’t look away. Not when she was blushing like that and looking like a fucking goddess despite being on her knees.

He almost wept when her mouth finally wrapped around him. She was a shy kisser, taking just his cockhead in her mouth and her tongue thrusting against it softly, gently, before pulling it out of her. She lavished kiss upon kiss on his cock, her kisses getting harder as he felt himself grow even harder. She kissed him up his shaft, all the way to the base, before lowering her head.

Then he felt it—the tip of her tongue teasing the nerve-packed connection between his cock and balls.

_“Brienne!”_

She continued tonguing, either oblivious to what she was doing to him or enjoying this torture. He didn’t care. He didn’t want his cock to be far away from her tongue, her mouth. He fisted the sheets, his thigh muscles bunching from the tension wracking his body. He sighed in relief when she pulled her head away only to continue with those sweet, killing kisses up and down his cock before taking him in her mouth again, arching her throat. Jaime’s eyes widened as his cockhead bumped the back of her throat.

_“Brienne. . .”_

Her dark eyes nearly made him come. He groaned and thrust toward her mouth, her warmth.

As she kept one hand around his cock, the other caressed random patterns on his thigh. He didn’t know if she was soothing or enticing him. Her hands felt wonderful and her mouth was straight out of heaven. He panted, throwing his head back as his thrusts picked up pace, gliding against her tongue, brushing the back of her throat. Gods. It had been so long since anyone had wanted him like this. _Wanted him enough to do this_. That itself was a fucking turn-on already.

The strength had left his legs. His existence centered right in Brienne’s mouth, and her eyes. Such beautiful, beautiful eyes. He could drown in them. Shakily, his knuckles brushed her cheek.

“I’m close,” he hissed, trying his damnedest not to fuck her face. He expected her to release him.

She closed her eyes and tightened her lips around him.

Alright. If that’s what she wanted. Hells. He was hoping for it too.

“Give me your eyes,” he begged her breathlessly. “ _Brienne, please_. I want to look at you.”

Her eyes were slow to open. When they did, they were shining.

Then tears fell.

Jaime was about to pull out, worried that he had hurt her but he was in for another surprise. One of her arms wrapped around his back and pushed him closer, deeper inside her. He cried out, startled by the sudden spike on the pleasure wave he was cruising on. His fingers settled on he head, her hair, drawing her to an angle that enabled him to deepen his thrusts. She moaned and it was all over.

He groaned her name against and again as he spilled in her, his buttocks flexing hard from the force of his thrusts in her mouth, in her throat. Brienne just held him and tightened her lips around him even more, taking all that he had when in fact she was giving him everything. He was almost sorry when it ended. Almost. She freed his cock and he collapsed on the bed, boneless and feeling like he’d died but also ready to live a hundred years more. He heard a shuffle next to him, then the squeak of a mattress taking on a superior weight.

_Brienne._

She was flushed and sweating too. Her eyes seemed lit up by stars and her cheeks were red and stained with tears. Her mouth looked about twice its normal size but she had never been more beautiful until now. He brushed them away and she cradled his hand to her cheek.

“Don’t cry, wench.”

She managed a weak, watery laugh and kissed his palm. “I can’t help it.”

“Can’t help what exactly?” He turned so he could hold her. He kissed her around the face.

“You—you wanted to look at me.” She told him. “I—I didn’t expect. . .I know you did. . .before but. . .you really do, don’t you?”

He answered in a way that was becoming a favorite of his, and maybe hers. He cupped her face and kissed her, again and again.

And again.

They never left each other’s arms until the next morning.


	6. Six

Five months later

“Here, Aunt Lysa. You can wait here and read a magazine. Would you like tea? Cappuccino?” Sansa asked as she led her aunt toward the sofa.

“Oh, don’t bother. I just want to sit down and just clear my head.” Lysa replied as she sat down. The three other people already sitting there shifted to the side to make space.

“Alright. I’ll call you when you’re up,” Sansa said and returned behind the reception desk.

It was another busy afternoon in the salon. Every chair for the designated stylist was full. Podrick was brushing back the newly-shorn black hair from Bronn’s expanding forehead. Missandei was smiling and soothing a little girl who was having her hair cut short. The back was a hacked, uneven mess. A consequence, according to her harried mother, of the girl and her brother discovering scissors. Margaery, whose flowing blouse just about disguised the round bump of her belly, was chatting animatedly with a client as she carefully painted color on different sections of hair.

Brienne was having a mild, good-natured argument with a Daenerys Targaryen, one of her top clients. The younger woman’s violet eyes sparkled with mischief and defiance in the mirror while Brienne shook her head, a hand on her hip.

“I know you,” she was saying. “You never like big changes. And suddenly you want a pixie?”

Daenerys cocked an eyebrow. “People change.”

“Not you, dear. You order the same thing from Bronn’s bakery coffee shop every single day.”

At that, Bronn piped up, “Cinammon roll with extra strong brewed coffee.”

“That proves my point, Dany.”

“Oh, so what? I’m obsessed with pastries and coffee.” Daenerys jabbed a finger in Bronn’s direction. “This is hair, mister.”

“Yeah, but see here, hair is something you will live with. A pixie takes six months to grow out. You can order hot chocolate and brownies anytime,” Brienne told her.

“I want a change!” Daenerys exclaimed. “Come on. I’ve had long hair my whole life. I want to see it short and fun.” She piled her hair to see what she looked like with it short. Smirking, she turned her head from side to side. “I think it works, don’t you?”

“At least go for a bob,” Margaery suggested. Brienne nodded and Daenerys shook her head.

“I want it gone and fun,” Daenerys insisted.

Margaery caught Brienne’s eye. “You’re on your own, boss.”

“Sorry. Come on, Brienne.” Daenerys whined, turning her chair around to look at her. She clasped her hands together dramatically. “You’re the only one I trust with this. Anyone else would chop it off but you not only understand hair. _You know my hair_. Please, please? If you do this, I’ll name my first child after you.”

“You’re not pregnant.”

“Marge will name her baby after you.”

“Hey!” Margaery protested. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She stared at her belly. “Something’s happening!”

Everyone in the salon stared at her with concern while Brienne and the rest of the staff rushed to her side. Sansa caught the bowl and paintbrush she held before they fell. Margaery’s face was pale as her hands fluttered protectively on her belly. She looked at Brienne fearfully. “Brienne, I—I don’t understand. Oh, gods—”

“Sit down,” Brienne guided her gently toward a chair that Daenerys quickly vacated. Daenerys dug in her bag to pull out of her cellphone.

“There’s something—I don’t get it. Like, something turning and. . .” Margaery frowned and rubbed her stomach. “I don’t know. Something like tickles?”

“Tickles?” Podrick asked, handing her a glass of water.

“Does it hurt?” Brienne asked as Margaery sipped. “Are you in pain?”

“N-No. No, I don’t think---oh! There it is again!” She grabbed Brienne’s hand and pressed it on her belly. “Over here. There. Can you feel---”

“Holy shit,” Brienne whispered, feeling flutters against her palm. She shook her head in disbelief at Margaery. “Marge, your baby is moving!”

“What? That—that can’t be! Moving?”

“How far along are you?” Missandei asked.

“Um, I’m eighteen weeks.”

“That’s the baby moving. You’ll feel it around this time,” Missandei told her, smiling.

“Oh my gods!” Margaery exclaimed, her hands returning to her belly. Brienne removed hers, smiling as joy lit up her friend’s face. “Oh, it’s really moving! Wow!”

“All the talk about hair got the little fellow all excited,” Missandei said, laughing as Margaery grabbed her hand to feel it. “There.”

Soon, Margaery was grabbing everyone’s hands to feel her baby. Excited chatter went around. It was Margaery who put an end to it by squealing about her client’s hair and so hurried to fix it. Her client reassured her with a pat on the hand and a smile as she apologized. Business resumed on a much lighter note, and with Daenerys more determined to get the haircut she wanted.

Brienne was nothing if accommodating, although she made Daenerys promise she wasn’t going to cry. She turned the chair away from the mirror and got to work.

Despite the chatter and the music all around, haircutting put Brienne in a trance. The metallic snip on hair, and hair falling to the floor, was a strange kind of music that reminded her of golden oldies from the radio on a Sunday. She worked on Daenerys’ hair section by section, clipping them separately to work on the inner layers then gradually working her way out. Her hair was soft and thick, with thick, strong strands. It wasn’t like working with silk, like Jaime’s hair.

_Jaime._

They had only two days together. Two most beautiful, heavenly days. Except for food and other physical necessities, they hardly left the bed—or whatever they were on. By the second night, her nipples were so sore that even the gentlest settling of a warm shower made her cry out—and for honey to gush down her pussy. Jaime’s cock ended up kind of chafed but it didn’t stop him from her fucking her—even when his car arrived, it had to wait for him for an hour.

Sex. _Fucking._ That was the agreement. He had kissed her hand after she walked him to the door. There were no promises made, just a mumble of thank you. She didn’t cry when she lay alone on sheets that still smelled of him. But she thought of him all the time afterwards—how could she not? Her lips remained sensitive for a week. She couldn’t walk right for just as long—prompting Margaery to tease that she had gotten a hot stud. If she only knew the truth, Brienne thought, blushing and refusing to be baited by her friends’ teasing.

She heard from Jaime only once—around two weeks after he left. There was a message on her machine: _“They didn’t fire me. They love the hair, wench. They think it makes me look rougher and sexier. I told them it’s all you, and if there’s going to be any more styling, only you can touch it.”_ A pause. _“I’m—I’m going away for three months. For the shoot. I called so. . .you’ll know. In case you want to say hi or to tell me how wet your pussy is. Either works. Or both. No, don’t tell me how wet you are, wench. It’s going to make the next few months more painful because I won’t be there to fuck you. I’d rather you show me how wet you are, so I’m right there, looking in your beautiful eyes.”_

She had laughed and cried while listening to it, and saved it. The next day, she put together a care package for him, but consisting of the junk food they had during those two days. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dug out her old Polaroid and snapped photos of herself—naked. She put them in an envelope and hid it under a package of cookies with chocolate swirls. She sent it to his agency, where Jaime had also told her to get in touch should she need to speak with him.

A week later, she came home to an envelope. It had a returning address from Naath. Inside was a card with a beautiful butterfly print. Scrawled inside were just these words:

_You torture me, wench._

Realizing that this might lead to something they were neither prepared for, Brienne didn’t respond anymore. They were from two very different worlds. They were there for each other at exactly the right time and that was it.

But Brienne missed him. She really did. She missed the smell of his hair, his teasing. She missed his voice, his awful dancing and painful singing. She missed having him inside her, his hot whispers in her ear to look at him, to give him her eyes.

She didn’t hear from Jaime again—not personally. Because the film production was so far away, news reports were few. There was the occasional soundbite and interview but the producers didn’t want any accidental leaks and kept a tight watch on everyone—even the actors. Jaime wasn’t on social media but some of his co-actors were. In spite of her better judgment, she browsed their photos and posts online. Jaime would always be there, his hair a little longer now but still retaining its trimmed shape, and with a thicker beard.

In the afternoon of their first, and last day together, Jaime persuaded her to shave off his beard. He smiled and teased her the entire time. Not even her threats to cut him stopped him. When they were done, he tackled her right back into bed and buried his smoother, newly-shaven face between her thighs. Her laughter softened into throaty moans, her cheeks burning as he whispered she should always be celebrated this way.

She refused to let herself dream for more than those days. It wasn’t the wisest move to send him a care package with nude photos, and she was a jerk for not responding to his card. But what would they have if she had? He was an actor. He lived in Kingsland. She lived and worked in Brown Alley, where haircuts went for twenty dragons. Jaime was the only good part of a world where your existence depended on your good looks first and talent a distant second. He had both, in abundance. Maybe that’s why he could see her as she was. To have so much only made one more aware how little others had. But he was the only one. She couldn’t risk wanting more with him, not when being with her would make him an object for ridicule.

In an ideal world, Jaime’s opinion of her would be all that mattered to everyone. Reality showed that there were people who depended on Jaime for their very existence. Anything that compromised Jaime put them at risk too. She remembered only too well how conflicted he was between retreating from his glitzy world to remain sane and having to go back despite being still so broken. _“There are people who rely on me for their jobs, Brienne.”_ She didn’t want him to be in that position again, and because of her, should she listen to her heart.

So, she locked those two beautiful days together in her heart, for her to hold and always protect.

Time passed and she didn’t hear from Jaime again. No card, no phone call. She knew from social media that the shoot was coming to an end and the actors were slowly trickling back to Westerwood. As soon as she decided on a social media cleanse, a package arrived for her one weekend.

It was the day after her birthday. Brienne was at home on a Netflix binge when the mailman arrived with a box. After she removed all the protective packaging, she found a handsome, wooden box etched with butterflies. There was a card on top. She opened it and found only this message:  _Whenever you’re wet, wench._ _Happy birthday. J._

Laughter rang in her apartment as she unearthed a jumbo pack of Kingslayer condoms in neon pink.

Brienne was smiling as she finger-combed Daenerys’ new, playful pixie cut. As she made the final touches, her client gasped.

“Holy shit. He mentions the place! Brienne, Evenstar is on _Westeros Men!_ ”

“Who?” Brienne tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes.

Daenerys squealed and showed her the magazine page she was on. “Jaime Lannister! Brienne, he fucking says right here that you cut his hair!”

 _“What?”_ Brienne snatched the magazine from her while everyone gathered around. Everyone made way for Margaery, who was rubbing her belly, expecting her baby to start moving again.

“Read it aloud,” she told Brienne.

Brienne blushed and began to read.

_WM: So, let’s talk about the hair. It’s a thing of beauty, honestly. Short, sweet and sexy. Do men have their cut like women do after a break-up?_

_JL: (chuckles) I won’t speak for all men but it’s odd timing, is it? Nah. I wanted short hair and there was a wench—rather a great woman who was quite willing to give me what I wanted. She’s Brienne Tarth of Evenstar Hair. So, you like what she did?_

_WM: Very much.  I guess the multi-million hair insurance isn’t true?_

_JL: My lips are sealed but I’ll let my hair speak for itself. Brienne will like that._

_WM: Is Brienne a friend of yours?_

_JL: If you’re gonna let someone with scissors within three feet of you, she’d better be a friend._

Sansa suddenly screamed. “Brienne! When was he here?”

“You didn’t say anything!” Podrick said.

“Did he come after-hours?” Margaery demanded.

“When did you cut his hair?” Missandei asked.

 Daenerys snatched the magazine from Brienne and pretended to swoon at the full-page photo of Jaime there. “Oh. My. Gods. _Please_ tell me you did it on the chair I was just on!”

Brienne reddened. “We didn’t do anything!”

Missandei hit her on the arm. “She’s talking about the haircut. What else did you do?”

“Nothing!” Brienne announced firmly. She looked at each of them sternly. “Yes. Mr. Lannister was here. He came after-hours. He wanted a haircut.”

“Do you two know each other?” Podrick asked.

“I didn’t recognize him at first,” Brienne answered honestly, hating that she was lying. “Look, guys, let’s drop it, okay? It’s nice that Evenstar was mentioned. We could use all the free publicity we can get. Let’s get back to work. Please, everyone. Back to work.” She clapped her hands and everyone shuffled back to their chairs.

“I still can’t believe he was here,” Daenerys said as she sat down. “Um, Brienne, all you did with him was a haircut, right?”

Brienne, feeling her neck heat up, growled, “Dany, one more nosy question and I’m going to shave the rest of your hair off.”

Since it was clear that she won’t be speaking any more about the secret celebrity visit, no one asked her about it for the rest of the day, although the salon was still abuzz with excitement. She was relieved that there were reporters or anyone more interested in gossip rather than a haircut in Evenstar Hair.

On her way home, she walked past a newsstand and, against her better judgment, lingered and browsed a copy of Westeros Men. Jaime was on the cover, in black and white, looking so handsome, smug and fucking sexy in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a loosened bow tie. The cover story was him of course. _Jaime Lannister: The Lion That Keeps Roaring._

Heart beating fast, she quickly went to the interview she read earlier. There were more photos of Jaime in suits, at times laughing, and the rest, pensive. She blushed, embarrassed as her nipples tightened painfully under her sweater and a familiar heat gathered in her pussy. Her eyes came close to popping out of their sockets as she read the pull quote:

_“You can be with someone for years and in the end, you learn nothing about that person_  
_has been true. No one wants to be in that place and if you are, it’s best to get out as soon as_  
_possible. Sometimes, you’re with someone for two whole days and know who she is and it’s tragic_  
_because you’re together for only a short time and you’re hungry for more of her.”_

He wasn’t! Was he? Could he be? She closed the magazine and put it back on the display, feeling herself shaking all over.

“Hey, Brienne, are you buying that or not?” Sandor Clegane spoke grumpily.

“What? Um, yeah.” Brienne took a deep breath and took the magazine, holding it close to her chest. She handed him the money. “Here you go. Thanks.”

She clutched the magazine closely as she walked. Then she found herself stopping in front of a flower shop.

She went in.

 

******  
“I come bearing gifts,” Tyrion announced as he strutted into the kitchen of Jaime’s house. He was followed by two assistants, one holding a suitcase and the other, a large bouquet of three dozen crimson roses. Jaime, still sweaty and messy from working out in the home gym downstairs, cocked his eyebrow at the flowers.

“Courting me, brother?” He drawled, pouring his protein shake into a glass. He tried not to make a face at the green concoction.

“Someone definitely is,” Tyrion answered, helping himself up on the stool. As Jaime looked at it suspiciously, he added, “It’s not from Cersei, don’t worry.”

“You didn’t look at the card? That’s not like you,” Jaime said, reaching over to pluck the card from the arrangement. “You can leave us,” he told Tyrion’s assistants.

“Maybe it’s from the magazine people.” Tyrion said, helping himself to some pretzels from a jar.

“Which one?” Jaime was dizzy from all the promos he was doing for his upcoming movie. The one he had just finished won’t be out until later in the year but he also had one for the summer blockbuster season. It won’t be for another couple of months but there were interviews and photo shoots to do in advance. Not to mention those boring meetings for the next job. Jaime wished he enjoyed it as much as he used to.

“Who gives a fuck?” Tyrion helped himself to Fruit Loops from another jar next. He grimaced at the protein shake in the glass. “Fucking Seven. Is that what keeps my brother all godly and gorgeous?”

“You’re welcome to try it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jaime opened the card and sat down.

 _I don’t know what to say but maybe you like flowers._  
Thank you for everything.  
I miss you.  
                                                B (not wench)  


Jaime stared at the flowers.

“So, who’s it from?” Tyrion asked.

_She had responded._

It was awful how it took him so long to realize just how much he missed her. When he called her a few weeks after he left, he did want to check up on her and flirted a little. That was all he let himself believe, however. He liked Brienne Tarth. A lot. But he didn’t want her hurt. It was only supposed to be a message that told her he had a good time and wished her the best. Instead, he talked about her pussy and wanting to fuck her.

He really missed fucking her. _Being with her._

No doubt Brienne was the best fucking lay ever. She was incredibly sensual and so, so responsive. Her blue eyes followed him wherever he went, even in Naath. For reasons he couldn’t understand back then, the butterflies the island was famous for reminded him of her.

He thought about apologizing for the call but felt he might make things worse. He was really surprised when he got a care package of the junk food they had during those two days and her nude Polaroids. If she was torturing him, she succeeded. He kept the photos in his nightstand, and looked at them every night before sleeping. He didn’t jerk off to them, although he came pretty close. He just. . .remembered her. And how wonderful she was.

He sent her a card. Twice he had crossed out what he really wanted to say ( _I miss you_ ). Finally, he decided on the message she ended up receiving, for both their sakes. Their agreement was sex-only. How would they survive in the real world? Him with his schedule, with everyone wanting a piece of him in exchange for heaps of cash, her with her little salon business and the quiet corner of her small world? He appreciated her—all of her—but most people were blind. And they could be cruel. He didn’t know if he could protect her from that. He didn’t want her hurt because of him.

But he missed her too much. Not just fucking her. It was insane. He didn’t have to be told. How could he miss someone he had only known for two days? But he did. He really did.

He both hurt and relieved when she didn’t respond. Maybe she realized they weren’t going to work too. If their world was only her cozy apartment, they would be fine. But outside. . .he wasn’t so sure. She refused to talk about her past in detail, except when it involved her father, but from the few words she allowed to slip, he already had a clear picture of the cruelty she experienced. And in his world, people were cruel for a living. He couldn’t protect her all the time.

Still, he asked Tyrion to keep an eye on Brienne. Tyrion didn’t ask him questions and did as requested. He gave Jaime all the information he could have on Brienne. Her parents, her birthday. He even got his hands on her tax returns, which Jaime threw in the fire. Though he knew it might be a bad idea, he couldn’t resist sending her a gift for her birthday.

He thought to send her some fancy, hairstyling tools but thought that may be too much. He decided on something else, instead. Something that that he hoped was funny—a package of the neon pink condoms they used. From Brienne’s silence, his gag had fallen flat. But isn’t that what he wanted? To do something nice but without really revealing how he felt for her, knowing there was no point? He couldn’t have her hurt. _If_ she was hurt by the gift, then that was better than being extremely hurt.

Yet in front of him was the most beautiful and extravagant arrangement of red roses. Usually he sent the flowers, not the other way around. It was nice, actually. He touched one of the petals, reminded of the softness of Brienne’s lips.

“Let me guess,” Tyrion continued, munching on peanuts now. “It’s another agency wanting to steal you away from me. Fucking idiots thinking flowers will get you to leave.”

Without a word, Jaime took the arrangement and left the room.

*****

The next morning, Brienne went to buy donuts first. Aside from the usual jelly flavors, she added fancy chocolate flavors. Margaery and Missandei would love them for sure.

She had just finished paying when her phone rang. It was Podrick. It was his turn to open the store today.

“Hey, Pod. What’s up?” She asked.

“Brienne, you’ve got to get here. _Now._ ” Pod sounded panicked.

“Why? What’s happened? Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“So far, none. But Brienne, hurry. It’s a pandemonium!” And with that, he hung up.

Worried, Brienne picked up the box and jogged to Evenstar Hair. Nightmare scenarios of every kind swirled in her head. A fire. A flooding. An accident of some sorts. Her blood ran cold as she thought of Margaery. Missandei. _But Pod said no one’s hurt._

When she reached the block where the salon was located, she skidded to a stop. Her mouth dropped open.

There was a long line. Of women. And men.

They were all lined up in front of Evenstar Hair.

As Brienne hurried past them, she overheard snatches of conversation:

“If this is good enough for Jaime Lannister, it fucking works for me.”

“You don’t think it’s too expensive now that Jaime Lannister goes here, do you?”

“Maybe there’s a female version for the ‘Jaime’?”

“The fucker may not know how to keep a woman but he sure looks good with that new hair.”

“Hey, let us in!”

Brienne had to go around the back, fearing that the restless mob would try to force themselves through the front door. She unlocked it and entered the salon. “Here I am,” she announced, putting the box of donuts down on the table. “What’s going on?”

“They’re all here for the Jaime,” Margaery answered, opening the box and helping herself to a chocolate donut.

“The Jaime?” Brienne demanded, turning around, her heart racing.

“The haircut,” Missandei explained. The steel blinds were still down but they could hear the noise from outside. “They’re all here for the haircut because of the magazine article.”

_Jaime._

Sansa looked at the door worriedly. “Brienne, we’re booked for the whole day. There’s no way we can accommodate everyone.”

“Yeah. What are we going to do?” Podrick asked.

Brienne stared at the door and squared her shoulders. “What we do best.”

Sansa was right. Even if half of their confirmed appointments for the day suddenly canceled, there was still no way to accommodate even a tenth of a crowd. They may have a shot of fitting in more than they were able to had others been trained in the ‘Jaime,’ as the haircut was now called. It wasn’t rocket science but Brienne would have to teach the others, nevertheless, to get it right.

She was astounded that the most insistent customers were men. From smelly pre-teens to overly-perfumed grandpas, they demanded for the haircut or an appointment for the next day, when the former proved impossible. The women were more understanding although there was a particularly bitchy customer who threatened to post on social media that Evenstar Hair was snooty and couldn’t be bothered with non-celebrities.

Margaery, fed up with this kind of attitude, yelled at her. “Then you fucking do it. You fucking do it and you’ll have my giant pregnant ass wrecking your face!”

The crowd roared in approval and they quickly turned on the potential client, who couldn’t get out fast enough without receiving some really choice insults. Things calmed down significantly after that, with the woman’s behavior forcing everyone else to check on themselves.

Evenstar Hair stayed open for an extra hour. As a thank you to her employees, Brienne invited them to dinner out, including their families. Missandei kissed her on the cheek and went to pick up her daughter from her grandmother’s. Margaery called Yara, urging her to hurry. Yara was a police officer who would go with Brienne or Missandei to the bank to deposit the day’s earnings. Sansa and Podrick were flying solo.

After going to the bank, Brienne and Yara met the others for pizza. Pizza turned out to be exactly what everyone needed after a long, trying day. Missandei’s daughter, Shayla, was just plain adorable telling them about her part as a daisy in an upcoming school play. Margaery, stroking her belly, shared a look with Yara and smiled.

During a lull in the pizza feast, Sansa leaned forward and looked at Brienne. “Okay, boss. We’ve let you be quiet. It’s time to fess up. Tell us how Jaime Lannister came to the salon.”

“Oh, gods,” Brienne groaned.

“You can not say no to a pregnant woman,” Margaery told her.

“Your goddaughter wants to know too. Right, baby?’ Missandei asked Shayla, who nodded eagerly.

“Alright. Alright. I’ll tell but after tonight, we won’t talk about this anymore, okay?” Brienne held up her pinkie. “Pinkie-swear it.”

“Wow. Did you two fuck or something?” Podrick asked out loud. Brienne hid her blush by taking a huge glug of her soda. Just as quickly, he shook his head. “Nah. Jaime’s not your type.”

“Oh, you would know.” Yara scoffed. “I’m into boobs and even I think Jaime Lannister is hot.”

“Hey,” Margaery pretended to protest.

“Yeah, but when you fuck someone---”

“Hey! Children!” Missandei exclaimed, covering her daughter’s ears.

“Can it, Pod,” Brienne told him. “Nothing happened. He came by one evening. Months ago. I was closing up. He wanted a haircut.”

“Is that when he disappeared after that starlet ex of his was caught cheating?” Sansa asked.

“Language!” Brienne said impatiently, darting a glance at Shayla.

“Sorry.”

“To answer your question. . .yes. Honestly, I didn’t recognize him at first.” Damn. Thinking back to that night, remembering it so vividly, indicated just how much she missed him. _Two days! They had two days together!_

Unaware that she had a hand on her heart, Brienne told them the rest. She didn’t have to lie, she only had to omit information. Jaime did come for a haircut. She did his hair. They talked about what happened between him and his ex but she didn’t pry.

“It was so cold that night when I finally closed up. I ended up with a fever and that’s why I didn’t come in the next day.”

“Oh, Brienne.” Missande said with a sigh. “I wish for once that wasn’t the reason you didn’t come in.”

“Yeah. I mean, if he made some indication he wanted to, wouldn’t you?” Margaery asked with a grin.

“Come on, guys.”

“Nothing like a doctor-recommended celebrity lay to put you right back up again, if you know what I mean.”

“Stop it. That’s all I’m telling you, guys because that’s all that really happened. Let’s move on, shall we?”

****  
Her back hurt. Her feet were killing her. A gods-awful migraine was beginning to form.

Brienne Tarth felt good, though.

Not great. But she will take good.

She unlocked the front door of her apartment building. Wearily, she trudged to her mailbox. Bills were something that could wait but she didn’t like her box to overflow. She leaned against the wall as she rifled through the envelopes. Electricity. Water. Internet. A card with a lion.

A card with a lion?

The rest of her mail fell to the floor as she tore it open, her heart beating fast. Beating oh so fast, so fucking hopefully. The condoms weren’t just a gag gift. He wasn’t joking. And that magazine interview—she refused to let herself think, to dream. But here, in her hands, in a card meant to be attached on a gift, could be. . .what?

_She had never been so afraid in her entire life._

She took a deep breath and opened it.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

The elevator was going to take too fucking long. She ran all the way to the third floor.

She tore down the hallway, her eyes wide, sweat pouring down the sides of her face. She hardly noticed the sliver of light under her door, didn’t give another thought how it was open. She knew why. The answer to all the questions and dreams she refused to acknowledge, wouldn’t even think about, was right behind this very door.

She pushed it open and ran inside.

_“Jaime.”_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Nothing came close to the joy Jaime wore on his face when he turned around at the shout of his name. Ecstatic, Brienne practically flew from the doorway, her boots heels thundering on the floor. Her legs, long as they were, couldn’t keep up with her desired speed. An ankle faltered under the force of her movement, causing her to pitch forward. She shrieked, thrown sharply into the air only to be caught in Jaime’s arms. Unprepared from the combined impact of her weight and speed, he staggered. They cried out as they fell. Her hands automatically wrapped around the back of his head for protection.

“Brienne, are you alright?” He gasped, grimacing. She blushed and quickly sat up, giving him a hand. Concerned, she looked at him, gently pressing the pads of her fingers around the back of his head while her blue eyes searched for any signs of pain on his face.

“Are you?” She asked, flushing in embarrassment. Suddenly, Jaime took her hand, pressing it closely to his face and turning to kiss her on the palm.

“Jaime.” His name fell from her lips, her next breath and the one she most longed for.

He looked at her, still holding her hand against his cheek. No amount of remembering could capture the true beauty of him. The bright green eyes that tilted at the corners, like a cat’s, the chiseled cheekbones and elegant jaw. His hair was a little longer now, retaining much of its shorter shape but beginning to flare at the ears. Was his hair more golden now? It was still as soft as the first time she had touched it.

Her heart raced at the heat in his eyes. He had looked at her like that when in her arms, when they were sharing a meal. The only time it had been different was when he had to leave. Now, that she wasn’t able to forget. He had looked like as if in physical pain as they stood at the door holding hands. But she never thought of stopping him. If he wanted to be with her, it was his choice, not because she asked him to.

And now here he was, five months and two days later. In her apartment. In her arms.

 She hugged him fiercely, her body shaking all over from the effect of _him._ He grabbed her with as much passion. She breathed the scent of his hair, his skin, closed her eyes at the silver tingles spreading through her skin at the familiar scrape of his beard, the warmth and hardness of his body. She turned her head toward him, feeling herself getting weak. He smelled like soap and lemons, of golden sun and the hottest summer afternoon.

“Brienne.” He groaned, his hold around her threatening to crack her ribs—if she didn’t break his first with her own grip. She closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her ear, down her cheek. “You’re here. I’m here. Gods.”

They just held each other, each refusing to leave the warmth of a much-missed embrace. When they began to extricate themselves from each other, it was done slowly, as if with pain. Maybe it was. The time they had together was spent mostly in each other’s arms, quite literally. Being apart, and for as long as they had, was an unfamiliarity they seemed to want to quickly forget. Jaime caught her hand in both of his, kissing each finger deeply, gazing at her the whole time. His eyes, the color of pure emeralds with just the barest hint of what seemed to be blue. Her breath caught, drowning in them, her heart melting at the kindness and love radiating from them.

“Jaime,” she murmured again, letting him pull her knees up, pushing her skirt up as he peeled her stocking off. He unzipped her boot and pulled the rest of the stocking away, baring a long, toned leg. “W-what are you doing?” she asked, blushing hotly as he pressed kisses on its length.

“Checking for bruises,” he answered, his lips lingering on her knee before turning to bare her other leg, removing her stocking and the other boot. She was about to protest that she was alright when she realized it was a little game. Her cheeks crossing to the next level of vivid pink, she obeyed his whispered command to stand up, to make sure she was really alright.

Jaime straightened up on his knees. He kissed up her thighs, causing her breath to quicken as his beard rasped the softer skin. Then he was pulling off her underwear, arms wrapping around the back of her thighs to cover her pussy with kisses. Now she was really embarrassed, as she had been working all day and skipped a shower due to the cold. Nevertheless, she just brushed her fingers through his hair, head falling back and her lips parting as his kisses got more fervent. A tongue slipped between her slit, teasing her clit to a stiffness that made her gasp. She thought she heard him chuckle against her pussy, his nose nuzzling the hairs there, his tongue collecting the moisture dripping from her. Then Jaime suddenly stopped, pulling his head from under her skirt.

She dared to open her eyes, to look at him looking at her as he unclasped her skirt. Then he got up to his feet. His eyes were golden light as he worked her coat off her, then her sweater, until she was standing in her apartment dressed in nothing else but a tank top, nipples hardening, and skin covered in goosebumps from the cold.

“I—I’m alright. I think.” She stammered, trying to cover her nipples and her pussy. He shook his head and froze.

“You think? Let’s make sure, then.” Jaime said huskily, taking her by the hand and steering her to the sofa.

He sat down, lounging on it like the golden lion he was, with an easy, graceful assurance. He pushed off his jacket and, looking at her, smiling at her, began to unzip his jeans. Brienne turned away as his cock rose long and arrogantly. He stroked himself lazily but his expression was tensed.

“I’m not alright,” he told her. “I haven’t been since I left. But I remember very well that I’m truly alright when fucking you. I shouldn’t stop fucking you.”

Most women would have flinched but not her. She was never for the florid declarations ripped from Hallmark. Rawness. Honesty. That’s what got her to go to him. Before she could throw one leg over his hips to straddle him, he stopped her with a quick shake of his head. Then he grinned and wrapped an arm around her hips and once again lavished kisses on her pussy. He kissed her with the hunger usually bestowed on a mouth. As she blushed and moaned, he spread her open with his fingers.

“You’re wetter than I remember,” he whispered against her flesh in between suckles and licks of her clit, his fingers ramming deep in her pussy. She was red from both mortification and pleasure at the loud squish from her pussy with every thrust of his fingers. “Tighter than you should be. Have you been waiting for me? I fucking missed you. Not just being inside you, wench. _You_.”

A sob was wrenched from her, then and she melted from his words. He gently guided her down to his lap, helping her spread her legs. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as her tears hit his neck. He kissed her on the cheek and then pushed inside her.

Her pussy clutched his cock possessively. She grunted. Her name spilled from his lips. Then he was grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head sharply to the side to kiss her up and down her cheek.

Gods. _How can something be so right?_

“Brienne. Wench.” He sounded tearful too. “Look at me. I want your gorgeous eyes on me. I can’t look away when I’m fucking you. You’re so fucking beautiful with my cock in you. Have I told you that? Look at me. Please. Please. Brienne. _Brienne._ ”

She whimpered, picking her head up from his shoulder and looking at him with eyes gleaming with tears, her chin wobbling from the emotions overwhelming her. He pushed her hair away from her face, grasping her face roughly in both hands. He was breathing unsteadily too and looked a little pale. Was that anxiety in his eyes?

_“I missed you so much, Jaime.”_

The color returned to his face and startled her at the relief that spread on it.

“Gods fuck, Brienne. I thought I was sailing solo on this.”

She shook her head. “No. No, Jaime. Not—never for a moment.”

Every part of her screamed to move. He was shaking too. He was inside her, huge and so hard and her pussy was being stretched by the second, struggling around him.

“Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to just fuck you, wench. But damn it. I so want to fuck you. I missed fucking you. Can we fuck first before I tell you---” he suddenly groaned as she clenched around him. “Fuck. Why do you feel so perfect? We should talk first.” The last sentence was a tortured sound and he grasped her by the waist as if to pull her away. She shook her head and instead put his hands under her tank, right on her breasts. He squeezed them eagerly.

“I care deeply for you, Jaime.” She whispered.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve never been so fucking glad in my whole life.”

She hugged him tightly. “Me too.”

His smile was strained and his hips rose a little. He sighed and she moaned.

“I—I have a big speech of all. I wasn’t just going to talk about your pussy. But fuck, Brienne. You’re so fucking tight. I swear you weren’t this tight. Have you at least been masturbating--”

“Gods, Jaime! Don’t make me laugh now!”

“I’m not joking.” He grumbled. “It’s your fucking fault. Flying at me and being all over me—”

“All over you? I fell—”

“Right.” She started to protest again when he suddenly winked at her. Realizing he was just kidding her, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. He groaned and kissed her back.

Having Jaime inside her would always be the best thing but when they kissed. . .it was beyond wonderful. It was wonder and all things of which there was no name but only the most joyous of feelings. She slanted her tongue against his, moaning at his familiar flavor.

“I’ve got five months of just my hand for company, wench. This won’t go over very well,” he said between kisses.

“So you think,” she said breathily.

“This time it’s true, wench. Fuck.” He was struggling to not move against her. She smiled and kissed him on the lips again.

“I can do this,” he muttered, seizing her face and covering her jaw with kisses. “I can fucking do this right.”

“Jaime—” She started to reassure him when he engulfed her mouth with a hard kiss. He sucked hard on her lower lip, pulling it until releasing it with a soft, wet, plop. He grinned then licked it.

“I’m fucking your mouth later. Fuck, I missed kissing you. I missed your voice. Tell me again about the color disaster you had at school. Or the time you accidentally lopped off more inches than the client wanted on her hair.” As he spoke, he kissed her randomly around the face, his hips moving gently, carefully, his cock gliding in back and forth motions in her pussy. “Tell me how you wish to expand. Tell me how you styled the hair of your dolls. . .”

He took her lips in another kiss as he ripped her tank open. He pinched her nipple hard and he muffled her cry with a kiss.

“Fuck, Brienne. Tell me everything. Show me everything. _I fucking missed you._ ” He growled, drawing her head lower to brush his lips tenderly on her closed eyes. “Damn your eyes. So astonishing.”

She gasped, her mouth falling open. Jaime cupped her by the jaw and his tongue swooped past her lips. He continued pinching her nipples to draw more soft shrieks and whimpers from her, kissing her as he did. She was dissolving from the pleasure of just his kisses, of just being held. He moved tentatively under her, as if he didn’t want to break or hurt her. Her frustration growing, she started moving too, her pace quicker than his. He gasped.

“Fuck yourself. _Yes. Yes._ ” He grabbed her by the waist firmly and soon matched her pace.

She didn’t know what made her do it but her eyes fell on her pussy swallowing his cock. Her cheeks were red but she couldn’t look away, noticing how his cock got shinier with each slide inside her. Then he grabbed her by the hair again, his mouth slanting hard over hers as his fingers sought her clit. Her gasp hit him right on the tongue as she was catapulted into a golden chasm. She stiffened in his arms, panting, before she softened and rested her forehead heavily against his.

“Brienne.” He whispered, kissing her softly before putting her on her back on the couch. She smiled dreamily as they remained joined, her pussy now soft and pliant around him. His hair fell over hers as he fucked her, lunging deep and fast, growling against her lips. He shuddered against her then went slack in her arms, his cock pushing deeper inside her as his head settled between her breasts.

“See?” She said, playing with his hair. “That went better than you thought, don’t you agree?”

He sighed and turned to face her, his green eyes soft. “I really wanted to talk to you first, wench.”

“So talk.”

“Hold on.”

She protested when he suddenly left her arms and he gave her a quick kiss. She blushed as he kicked off his shoes, dropped his pants and the rest of his clothes on the floor before dashing to her bedroom. She was hugging one of the throw pillows when he returned with a blanket. They smiled at each other and she quickly moved to make room for him. But he didn’t join her, instead wrapping her in the blanket then running in her apartment again. The squeak of a faucet being opened, followed by a swoosh of water.

The next time she saw him, it was with a glass of water. Brienne was caught between being thrilled and embarrassed at his thoughtful gesture and the fact that she couldn’t stop herself from licking her lips in appreciation at the sight of him.

His pectorals were bulkier and more defined. His arms, already muscular to begin with, had acquired more definition. His thighs, which used to be lean, were definitely more muscular and harder-looking. Her cheeks flared vivid pink as she stared at his cock, remembering how he felt inside her, stretching her, fucking her. The Seven had poured all of their magic into creating the finest specimen of man in Jaime Lannister but his cock definitely involved more than a couple of unnamed gods.

“Like what you see, wench?” He teased her, obviously delighted at how she was checking him out. He held out the glass to her.

She took a sip, blushing even more as he watched her. “What’s not to like?” She murmured, handing him the glass. He smirked and finished it off before joining her. He felt cool so she swaddled him with the blanket and threw her leg over his knees, her hand stroking his chest and the hairs on it. 

“How did you get in?” She asked, wrapping an arm around him.

“Your super. He recognized me while I was waiting for you outside of the building.”

“Oh, gods. He did?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t go crazy or anything. He asked what I was doing and I said I was waiting for you.” Jaime shrugged. “I was going to come back later but he said you’re on your way home and let me in.”

“Well, you don’t look like the sort who’ll steal my TV,” Brienne said but still made a note to speak with Oberyn Martell later. She didn’t really mind that he let Jaime in but she was concerned about talk. The last thing she wanted was for paparazzi staking out the place.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jaime assured her. “He did ask what exactly our relationship is and I said you give VIPs haircuts in your home, and we’re good friends. I emphasized that I expected his discretion.”

“Here’s hoping I guess.” She said quietly, mulling over what he said about them.

“Silly wench,” Jaime suddenly said, kissing her on the forehead.

“What?” She asked, blushing.

He smiled at her. “You know that I only have to look in your eyes to know what you’re thinking? We’re more than friends, of course. If that wasn’t clear before I hope it is now. After all, you did say you care deeply for me.”

She snorted but couldn’t hide her burning cheeks. He kissed her again. “I wasn’t going to tell him exactly what we are, wench. Not without speaking to you first.”

“We’re more than friends and care for each other,” she remarked.

“Come on, now. I don’t want to stop fucking you. What do you take from that?” He tweaked her on the nose playfully. “Do you want me to stop fucking you?”

She blushed and shook her head.

“In case you still don’t realize it, wench, I don’t want to stop fucking you just because you have the tightest pussy in the city.”

She laughed. “Anyone ever told you that your compliments are very. . .filthy?”

“I think I should tell you that _I know_ you love them coming from me.” He said, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “I’m never going to forget how you blew me the entire afternoon after I told you that your mouth was made to suck my cock.”

“You do know how to give me encouragement.” She said, grinning and flushing.

“I missed this,” Jaime said, suddenly turning serious. He ran a hand down her arm and looked in her eyes. “I’m still trying to make sense how just two days with you changed my life, Brienne. Do you hate me for leaving? I was hoping you’d stop me. I didn’t want to go.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I—I saw it too, Jaime. But I couldn’t ask that. If you wanted to stay, that had to be your choice.”

“I regretted it as soon as I closed the door. I was hoping you’d ask, yes. But I was also afraid to ask how you felt, wench. After all, we made it clear to each other we were just going to fuck.”

The brightness in her eyes dimmed a little as she nodded. Sex was their agreement. Nothing more. Sex and sanctuary. But along the way. . .

No, she couldn’t hate the five months they were apart. They were hard and she had cried more than she liked to admit. But she never forgot what Jaime told her early on, when he was having second thoughts about remaining in hiding longer. People depended on him for their jobs. It was the same for her. She couldn’t wallow and lock herself up in her apartment with just memories and listening to his message. They had each other, no matter how short a time it was. That’s what mattered.

“I still have the photos, wench.” Jaime’s soft, husky voice pulled her back. She blushed and he kissed her again. “They helped but tortured me too. I never thought it would hurt to remember until those photos. I was so fucking desperate to be inside you. I wanted to ditch the movie so many times, find you and never stop fucking you. I remembered how you tasted---”

He gasped and she put a hand on his cheek to get him to face her. “We’re together now,” she whispered. “I missed you so much, Jaime. More than you’ll know. I—I kept myself informed through those gossip sites.” He chuckled at that. “It was always so good to see you on TV but every time I saw you like that, all the more I was reminded that you were not with me. So, when I read that magazine article---”

He kissed her hand. “I didn’t know whether I could call you again. Were you upset about the condoms?”

“No. Of course not.”

“What I really wanted to say was I missed you. _You._ But I thought if I just kept it within sex. . .”

“But it’s not just fucking, is it?”

He gazed at her. “I don’t think it was ever just fucking for us. You’re the best fuck, Brienne, but fucking you is more than that.”

She bit her lip. “We lied to ourselves.”

“Might as well. I’d have freaked out if this---” he gestured at them. “Happened right on the heels of that. . .cheating whore.”

“She is,” she told him. “Um. . .have you heard from her?”

“Last I know, she was dropped from a production because she was doing the props guy and the director.”

“You’re too good for her. She never deserved you.”

“It’s just too bad I had to go through her to get you.”

“Is it?” She asked. “Because. . .because I’ll go through everything again as long as it’s you in the end, Jaime.”

He took her hand and threaded his fingers in between hers. “If that’s not a declaration of love, wench, I don’t know what else to call it.”

She blushed and kicked him playfully. “No fair, I already said I care about you. So far, you’ve only said. . .what? That my. . .that I’m tight.”

He laughed. “Your pussy does distract me.”

“It’s okay, you know. I. . .I think I know what you mean when you talk. . .like that.”

“Wench. I love your pussy. But it’s like, my third favorite about you.”

“For something that’s third in the list, you talk about it a lot.”

“Only with you. And it’s not gotten the attention it deserves. Now that I’m back, you’re going to have to work really hard to get me to stop fucking you.”

She blushed and shyly kissed him on the lips. He smiled at her. “You wanna know what my top two favorites are?”

She nodded.

“Number two is your eyes.” He kissed her around the face before brushing his lips over her closed eyes. “And number one. . .”

“Y-Yes?”

He threw the blanket away, startling her. She opened her eyes and caught him giving her a searing once-over.

“You. All of you.”

She opened her arms. “Fuck me, Jaime,” she begged. _“Please.”_

 

*****

Jaime stood by the doorway of the bathroom, watching appreciatively as Brienne bent before the tub to fill it up with water. A towel was wrapped loosely around her, treating him to swathes of moonlight skin awashed in freckles upon freckles. His cock stirred under the robe as she bent some more, giving him a saucy peek of her firm ass and its pink crevice.

He looked around. The bathroom was modest, with white walls and pale blue tiles, an aged medicine cabinet and generic taps. His own bathroom was easily the size of her entire apartment, with a hot tub big enough to swim in, a shower with actual gold taps. But he liked her bathroom more. It smelled of mango and soap, much like the woman who was making him hard and his heart move strangely. He glanced at the shower rack, where her washed panties hung.

He watched the muscles in the back of her shoulders move, the tension at the back of her thigh as she leaned over to pour crème and salts in the bath. He caught his breath as her large pale hand reached out to swish the mixture in the rising water, intrigued even at this very ordinary movement.

She wasn’t graceful. In fact, she was awkward. Except when cutting hair. It was almost a dance, how she moved. Light on her feet. The ping of scissors snipping hair musical.

And when he was fucking her, dear gods, how she moved. It was a dance towards the most beautiful death.

 “Just give it a few more minutes,” Brienne told him, straightening up and turning to him. He thought she looked cute good as naked in her towel and her cheeks pink from the heat of the bath and from being around him. Her nipples were still tight from his kisses and they pressed temptingly against the towel. “I’ll just go get beer.”

“Let me do it,” he said, holding up a hand. She smiled and mumbled okay. She had no idea how close he came to tossing her in the bath and fucking her.

Jaime took beers from the fridge and returned to the bathroom, with the caps popped off. “It’s ready,” Brienne told him, her cheeks the color of pink peonies.

“Can I just say how good it feels to be back here? Now I’m really home.” Jaime said, untying his robe.

She smiled at him, clearly pleased. Then she turned around, giving him her back as she pulled off the towel. He groaned. “Wench, come on. Don’t you think I’ve fucked you more than enough for you to not turn around when getting naked?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You didn’t just fuck me.”

“Don’t forget. I’ll never stop wanting you,” he said, repeating the words he shouted just before he came for the second time earlier. It was as honest as he could get right now without startling her. With the wench, he had to find other words to convey what he really wanted to say. Maybe she was right to be a little skittish. Though their feelings were true, they had spent more time apart than together.

To his surprise, Brienne not only turned to face him. She went to him and finished untying the robe for him, pushed it off his shoulders. Jaime grabbed her by the waist and kissed her hungrily on the mouth, growling at his flavor on her tongue. She whimpered but kissed him back, her arms going around his shoulders.

Jaime reluctantly finished the kiss, his eyes falling on her body. What she lacked in curves she made up with length and strength. He kissed her long, freckled throat, caressed the firm muscles of her arms before growling again to devour a swollen nipple. She gasped above him, pushing his head to her chest as he sucked her nipple deeply. He turned to take the other in his mouth, drawing hard on it before suddenly blowing on the red tip. She shrieked, and he chuckled against her neck, kissing her some more before taking her lips.

“I want you so much.” She groaned as they held each other, panting.

“Good. You should. Although probably not as much as I want you,” he teased her.

She blushed. “Is that a challenge?”

“What else?”

He grinned as she kissed him full on the mouth before taking his hand and leading him to the bath. He would rather hold her but her tub didn’t have enough room for that position. Instead, they sat facing each other.

Brienne laughed and made a face as Jaime’s soapy foot drifted towards her cheek. She pretended to bite him and he yelped, shoving it back into the water. He took her foot and held it against his chest.

“Bite me and you won’t like the consequences, wench.”

Despite being the color of cherries, she retorted, “That’s not what you said earlier.”

He chuckled and, in revenge, ran his finger down the sensitive arch of her foot. She squealed, sending water to the floor. “Stop!” She exclaimed through giggles and gasps as tickled her and held her foot firmly. “Jaime!”

Damn. Five months without her. It was a miracle he made it to this moment. With her.

He kissed her foot in apology and put it back in the water. She was blushing, but her eyes were beautiful, sapphire storms. He smiled at her.

“Wench?”

“Jaime, if you tickle me again, I’ll drown you.”

He laughed. “Have dinner with me.”

“Tonight? But. . .” She blushed. “I’m sorry but I already had dinner. Are you hungry? We can order—”

“No, no. Not tonight.” He told her softly. He stroked her leg under the water. “Whenever you’re free, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”

She looked at him, her mouth hanging open. “Whenever I’m free?”

“Pick any night, wench. Any night, I swear. And I’ll be there.”

She stared at him with her owlish, beautiful eyes. Jaime hoped she read what he really meant. He meant it when he said he. . .wasn’t going to stop fucking her.

“Or a lunch. Maybe coffee. If you’d like a picnic, I’m game. You just say when.”

As understanding dawned on her face, he sat back in the tub, still caressing her leg. He watched as understanding fled from her face, taken over by disbelief and then. . .

There.

“I—I’d love that, Jaime.” She took a deep breath and added more firmly, “I really do.”

Later that night, her sharp cries of pleasure rang throughout the apartment. He pulled her down for a kiss, desperate to remain connected with her. She sighed, kissing him back gently. He helped her lie down beside him. He pulled the blanket over them then flicked off the lights. She wrapped an arm around him and he kissed her hand.

“Jaime.” Her whispered was suddenly tensed.

“Hmm?” He kissed down her wrist.

“Um. . .remember when you sent me those. . .condoms?”

He paused, grateful that the dark hid his blush. “Um, you do realize that. . .that it was only symbolic, right, wench? Of course I’d like to finish those off with you but. . .we’re not just going to fuck, okay? I want to more than fuck you---”

“I know. I know. It’s just that. . .”

“What?”

He sighed loudly as she pulled her hand away. The sheets rustled and the bed squeaked. He winced from the light coming from her lamp. He rubbed his eyes and when he finished, he saw her worried. Concerned, he sat up.

“What is it?”

“We—we didn’t use any of those. Tonight. We—we fucked three times and we didn’t. . .”

_No protection._

“Jaime.” Her voice brought him back. She was clutching the blanket to her breasts, looking like a lost, helpless child. His heart went out to her.

“Let’s calm down, wench. So, we fucked. . .without using anything. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But we’re still figuring things out.”

“Haven’t we covered the essentials?”

She nodded and he touched her on the cheek comfortingly. She was worried. And scared.

He wasn’t.

He just hoped she didn’t punch him for what he was about to say.

“Condoms are not one hundred percent effective. With the amount of fucking we have to make up for. . .well, there are some inevitables.”

“Inevitables.” She repeated after him. “Inevitables. . .plural?”

He nodded.

“And. . .you’re okay with that? With. . .what might happen?”

He nodded again. “You know why?”

“Um. . .no?”

He smiled and kissed her on the lips. “Because when I’m with you, _everything is alright_. And everything will be alright, Brienne. No matter what, I’m not going anywhere. You have my word.”

She stared at him, breathing loudly. He continued to touch her on the cheek until she sighed and cradled it with her hand. His heart got all tight as she kissed him on the palm.

“You did say I can choose when we can have dinner,” she said, giving him a small smile.

He took her in his arms and lowered them to the bed. “Not just dinner, wench.” He assured her, holding her securely. “Burst appendix, midnight tampon runs, Chinese food cravings, diapers, or anytime you find me so fucking irresistible you just have to have me. ”

Brienne burst out laughing. It was a horsey, snorting laugh but Jaime had loved it from the first time he heard it. He kissed her and was pleased when she cuddled against him.

This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be adding another chapter because this update was too long. I hope that's okay!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starland Vocal Band's, "Afternoon Delight," seems to be JB's song in this fanfic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone.  
> I am so thankful of everyone who reads and enjoys my work. Even when some people disagree with the kind of stories of write, I'm so appreciative that there are more who make the time to read and give encouragement when my writing goes in an unexpected direction. Experiments are not for everyone and I respect those who have the courage to break away from the usual, predictable plots that unfortunately crowd the JB fandom or play with an unexpected OTP. Bravo to you! Please write some more!
> 
> In the last few months, my attention has been brought to stories from other writers that are very similar to mine. Normally, I hardly mind. We write fanfiction so from the offset, there's nothing original. But this has been becoming more frequent. I suppose imitation is the best form of flattery but here's thing thing. I acquired whatever style I might have from reading a lot of mainstream literature and fanfiction. That took decades. When I started writing fanfiction, I made it a point to at least give a shoutout to works that have inspired me. Not to the authors (when I love an author, I get kind of stalker-y, so better to avoid that) but at least, I post it in the notes or as replies to comments on my work. I believe in giving proper credit & telling them to others.
> 
> With style, I don't really have any control on people who might copy it. For all we know, I might be writing like another author. But I've noticed in recent JB fanfics certain plots as well as instances that were practically ripped off word-by-word from MY STORIES. I'm sorry but that's something that doesn't sit well with me. 
> 
> You might think that just because I update WIPs or post new fanfic often that I'm a fountain of ideas and time. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Every fanfic I've written and and am still writing result from serious thought (even the smut, believe it or not), research (you got that right, also the smut) as well as constant doubts whether people will like it or hunt me down. That's for ideas. As for time, it's not something I don't really have a lot of. Aside from a full-time job, I'm also juggling grad school, family. I don't need a lot of sleep but I don't use the free time I get from it solely on writing fanfic. I have grades to keep up. I also share responsibilities at home. You get it. At least, I hope you do.
> 
> So, it's really disappointing when people, rather than making the time to come up with their own original JB fanfic plot lines, copy my stories instead. I'd rather not name names. You know who you are. Fine. Call me a whiny, entitled bitch  
> but do you think it's right for you to rip off stuff from me, stuff that I made the time to think about and write, which you post, then get kudos WITHOUT at least mentioning the work where you got that idea? Is it that hard to come up with YOUR ORIGINAL plot lines? 
> 
> I don't even get a lot of kudos or comments. Compared to some writers in AO3 supported by groups, I get only a teeny amount. I don't mind that. What I mind is when I read stories that could easily be mistaken for mine because the plot and even the tone are practically the same. Again, there's nothing I can do about style. It really happens. But ripping off plot lines from my fan fic and presenting it as your own--it's so disappointing. 
> 
> A while back, someone emailed me accusing me of causing dissent in the fandom just because I don't like a particular genre of writing. Telling me how we're already a small fandom and my issues were not helping. I made it clear to the letter-writer that I have not outright hated that genre, only that it wasn't my taste and people have the right to write whatever the fuck they want. I still believe that. Write whatever the fuck you want. But if you're a decent person, at leave give some acknowledgment to the work that inspired you. Calling a work that's ripped of mine as 'inspired' is even a compliment. It should't be but I don't want what's been happening to my works to happen to others. 
> 
> If you think, "Well, fuck, this bitch is in a tizzy over some fucking fanfic," well, yeah. I sure am. Because writing IS hard work. If it's effortless for you because you have no trouble copying from me and others, well, there's really nothing to say, is there? 
> 
> Because of this, I've made the decision to limit the access to my fanfic. Except for stories I've gifted, the rest will only be accessed if you have an AO3 account. 
> 
> This is great news for people who hate my stories (err, guys, get over the Jaime/Brienne/Tormund threesome fic--I'm fucking proud of it and you can say all the shit you want about it and, paraphrasing the divine Cersei Lannister, you're all so small I can't even see you. I really can't. For one thing, I'm tall). 
> 
> Hate what I write but don't fucking copy them. Make your brains sweat.

To know someone so intimately was to be privy to a side of that person no one knew about. Brienne mulled over this as she lay in bed the next morning, warm under the sheets and from Jaime plastered on her back. His snoring gently stirred the hairs at her nape, his hand wrapped around her breast.

His ex knew he snored, of course, but she wondered if that other woman knew how affectionate and. . .real he was. _They were together six years,_ she thought.

It was small wonder he was so hurt and angry by her betrayal. It was not her first time, she remembered him telling her. It wasn’t just the betrayal that he had to deal with, but the horror upon realizing the person he thought he loved didn’t exist at all.

They would be together a total of three days from the time they met yet Brienne felt they had already turned each other inside-out—in astounding, breath-taking ways. Jaime was still a stranger; counting today, they would be together for less than a week since they met. But he felt like he had always been in her life, not always at the center but kind of waiting in the wings and waiting for the right time.

 _The right time_. Was there such a thing? Was it a single time? Did it make all the other times with the person wrong? Or ill-timed? Because those two days with Jaime five months ago _felt_ right. For the first time in her life, there was someone who was not repulsed by her looks. He wanted to look at her. _Insisted_ on looking at her. _Wanted_ her.

She would like to think Jaime thought the same.

She closed her eyes, drifting back to sleep when the light tug of his fingers on her nipple made her eyes open. She blushed, fighting to remain still as he rained kisses on her nape, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. His hand cupped her breast possessively as he pressed against her, his cock brushing the cleft between her buttocks. The sharp hitch in her breath gave her away as his lips moved down her spine, toward her ass where teeth grazed the supple skin. Her eyes widened as he parted the flesh and kissed the opening between them, laughing softly against the sensitive puckered flesh. She gasped at his palm suddenly landing on her ass followed by the firm, eager thrust of a long finger in her pussy. She buried her face in her arms, blushing hotly as he fucked her. Her sensitive nipples brushed back and forth across the sheets from the force of his finger. When he turned her around on her back, she was the color of beets from head to toe. Sleepy emerald eyes greeted her as leaned close, his knee gently nudging her legs far apart.

“You know my favorite saying?” He asked, his lips just above hers. His breath was warm.

“What?”

“The early wench gets the cock,” he replied then kissed her.

The urgency of the previous night’s fucking had not abated, she discovered shortly. Jaime stole her breath with furious, deep kisses that were sure to bruise her mouth. He groped for her breasts, fondling them roughly to draw little shrieks from her. Her hands reached for his head, tugging at his hair as he kissed her down the throat, toward her clavicles, when he suddenly grabbed them and kept them above her head. He looked down at her, his eyes fiery and almost golden with heat.

“J-Jaime?” She asked, biting her lip.

“You don’t have handcuffs?”

Her face turned vivid red as she frowned. “Why would I have handcuffs?”

“We’re getting you handcuffs,” he murmured, suddenly leaving the bed. Brienne lay on her back for a moment before she sat up, gathering the blanket around her breasts. Jaime, proudly nude and massively aroused, was getting her robe from behind the privacy screen. She blushed as he removed the tie from her robe then returned to her side. His grin wicked, he told her exactly what he intended to do.

“What? Jaime, you—you can’t be serious.” She sputtered, shocked. From between her legs, her pussy ached.

“I am. I want to bind your wrists and fuck you.”

She continued to stare at him with her huge eyes but his eyes fell on her breasts. She blushed as her tightening nipples betrayed her. He smirked and held up the sash.

“I won’t do it tightly, wench. I promise. Just. . .I like your hands on me but it’s been so long since I fucked you that I’m barely keeping it together. I’d rather come inside you than all over your breasts. For now.” His voice took a pleading note. “I promise I’m not weird. Although when we get handcuffs, I want you to use them on me first.”   

Well, that was something she can get on board with. Her bound lion. She lay back on the bed and pulled her arms up. Jaime smiled happily and went on to tie her wrists on the headboard. He was right. It wasn’t tight at all.

He kissed her on the mouth again. If his hands were busy before, they were frantic now. Squeezed her breasts. Pinched her nipples. Grabbed her hips. His lips pressed frenzied kisses all over her face, her neck, before wrapping around her nipples and sucking hungrily. She wailed his name, feeling her pussy swell and get moist as his wet kisses filled her ears. He suckled an entire mound of her breast in his mouth, his eyes shining as she panted and gasped his name, her hips rolling and her toes arching from the white-hot flames burning her alive. Her fingers curled, wanting so very much to touch him but knowing he had spoken true—his cock would brush against her every now and then, the moisture leaking from it painting her freckles with thicker, surer strokes. Through her bleary eyes, she caught glimpses of it—a massive, pinkish pillar rising arrogantly from the cluster of golden curls. Her knees curled in anticipation for when it would be inside her again, pounding in her pussy, as if to punish her in the most mind-blowing way for their separation.

Her breasts gleamed with saliva when he gave her some small measure of mercy by kissing down her stomach. Her breathing slowed but her chest remained tight, her legs listless and his name all she could speak. He suckled on the firm flesh of her right inner thigh, then moved to the left to playfully bite. The hair on his head ruffled the curls of her pussy. Her hips curved up, wanting, craving for his tongue parting the folds, fucking her.

She saw him give her a grin before lowering his face on her pussy, obscuring the lower half but leaving his eyes for her to see. She moaned and sighed as he mashed his lips against her folds, kissing her gently as he would her mouth. With his rumpled golden hair and emerald eyes tilting up at the corners, she had an image of a lion feasting on a well-deserved meal. She blushed, turning her head to the side just as Jaime thumbed her open and pushed his tongue inside her.

“Oh. Gods. _Jaime. . ._ ”

“You taste like the sweetest angel,” he whispered in between flaying her pussy with his tongue. “ _My wench.”_

 She wept and spread her legs wider.

She blushed, gasping and shaking as she felt herself pouring wildly on to his tongue, his chin. She listened to his greedy slurps and almost died when his fingers entered her, fucking her violently while he continued suckling on her clit. She wailed and shrieked as her release whipped into her, her hips fucking him in the face and his kisses and fingers fucking her right back.

As her pleasure ebbed, her movements gentled. Jaime’s remained furious, ignoring her gasps for no more all while she was spreading her legs again and dripping. Her scream shattered through the apartment as she came for the second time almost on the heels of the first and that was only when his kisses slowed, his fingers eased. She let out a breath, panting as she felt him leave the bed. She heard a door being opened and then some clatter.

The bathroom. She blushed, remembering what was stored in there.

Sure enough, when Jaime returned, he was holding the jumbo pack of Kinglayer condoms. He ripped through it, his fingers shaking as he removed one square packet. Weak from her orgasm, she could only watch with a soft light in her eyes as he knelt between her legs, teeth splitting the pack open. He smiled at her, though it was tensed. She watched him remove the condom and her fingers twitched. How she wished she could do it for him. It wasn’t fair that he ate her out (his lips and chin were shiny) and she was tied up. As if reading her mind, he smiled again and reached over to free her.

“You do the honors, wench. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself.” He said as she rubbed away the slight numbness that had settled on her wrists.

“Just so you know,” she said, blushing as she took the condom. “After you fuck me, I’m getting myself another treat.” She looked pointedly at his cock.

He laughed. “I won’t stop you.”

She couldn’t resist rubbing him a little, just to get him to groan, before sliding the condom down his cock. Before she could take another breath, he tackled her back into bed, kissing her all over her face before finally taking her lips. Her cheeks were a fiery shade of red as she tasted herself on him.

As they kissed, he reached for his cock and guided it inside her. She helped by spreading her legs and using her own fingers to open her outer labia, baring the moistening, rose-pink flesh inside her. Because she was still slick and wide from her orgasms, he fit himself easily inside her in one push.

He had been inside her many times but it always felt like the first time. The length and girth of his cock making her pant, her pussy walls sucking him deeper inside hungrily. They stared in each other’s eyes then her hands rose to cradle his face.

“I—I can’t be without you again, Brienne.” He whispered then his hips began to move slowly, _deliciously._

She stared up at him, shaking not just from having him inside her again but from his words. She pulled his head down to kiss him gently as he fucked her.

They kissed and gasped against each other, their cheeks flushed from their deepening exertions and the sounds their bodies made with every surge of his cock inside her pussy. She closed her eyes, groaning as his cock hit a particular spot inside her, her grip on his hair tightening. He panted against her ear, then her mouth as her feet flattened on his ass to push him harder and deeper inside her. They looked in each other’s eyes, shared more kisses. Her nails scratched down his arm as she came. He bit on her shoulder as he slammed inside her.

He wrapped her in his arms, coaxing her to put her head on his shoulder. It didn’t matter that her feet stuck out from the edge of the bed to do it. She listened to his heart beat, kept herself warm in his embrace, played with the sweaty, golden mat of hairs on his chest. She kissed him around the throat, smiling and blushing as she felt the rumble of his laugh right under her lips. Then he was spearing his fingers through her hair, urging her to look up at him.

“You remember what I said?” He asked, a thumb brushing her swollen lip. He was smiling but there was uncertainty in his eyes too.

She nodded slowly.

“I don’t want to just fuck you first thing in the morning and all day, when I’m free, wench.” He said, tightening his hold on her. “I wanna be with you. Really with you. You know what I mean?”

She bit her lip, once again wondering if the right moment was pinned to only a single moment. How can this not be the right moment too?

“I want nothing more,” she answered, her heart beating fast. She felt like she had stepped away from her body and was just observing herself in his arms and slowly opening her heart. “I—I want to be with you, Jaime. Yes. Me too.”

As she spoke, she touched his lips with her fingertips. He kissed them before smiling at her.

“Glad that we won’t just have those two days anymore, wench.” He whispered, wrapping his leg around her. She giggled.

“Um, Jaime?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said earlier? About. . .” she felt her cheeks flare and was sure he felt her blush too. “About getting a treat?”

“You won’t be giving my cock any rest at all, are you?” He teased her as she pushed herself up and started removing the blankets from them. “I had to practically beg you to stop sucking me off last night.”

She smiled shyly as she moved between his legs. “I have five months of not having you in my mouth, Jaime.”

“Ultimate supreme wench,” he declared, smiling at her. He put his hands under his head and lay back, spreading his legs wide.

Her eyes gleamed like raw sapphires as she lowered her head.

 

*****  
Jaime grinned at Brienne before flipping the pancake in the air, deftly catching it in the pan. Her sapphire eyes twinkled as she sipped her coffee.

“Well, what do you know, breakfast and a show plus it’s free,” she teased him as he scooped it out of the pan and put it on the plate. He did a little dance as he brought it to her.

She spread butter on the pancakes then swirled syrup around it. Usually, he would make a face at how she was drowning the food in the syrup but he was all about sweetness today. Today and the rest of my days, he thought, unable to stop himself from pushing her hair away from her cheek. Her cheeks bloomed to a lovely hot pink color.

After a well-deserved morning of carnal debauchery, they managed to roll out of bed and get dressed. Jaime was once again wearing one of Brienne’s full-sized panties, as well as one of her sweaters. He had closets of designer threads but he was happiest in the worn, generic clothes of his girlfriend.

_Girlfriend._

Brienne held out a sliver of dripping pancake to him. “Taste the fruit of your labor.”

He grinned and opened his mouth. He chewed, unable to take his eyes off her as she took her chair. _He was happiest with his girlfriend._

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to eat something sinful for a change,” he said, refilling their mugs with coffee. “Playing a fucking warrior is hell. Protein shakes. Six hours of working out every fucking day. More protein shakes. And you weren’t there to fuck.” He pretended to complain, just to see her blush. He was successful.

“Um. Uh, that’s why you were in Naath? Playing a warrior?” Brienne asked, looking away and lowering her head. “But. . .Naath is one of the peaceful countries around.”

“The location is in Naath but the setting is Dorne. It’s Seven Hells shooting in Dorne right now.”

Brienne nodded and held out another piece of the pancake to him. “I remember. You told me you’ll be playing Daemon Velaryon. But. . .your hair is still blond.”

“It was supposed to be long and dyed platinum but I told the producers if they touch one strand of your work I’m walking and will fuck them in their saggy asses if they sue me. Well, my lawyers will. I wore a wig and those purple contacts.” He touched his hair. “It’s a masterpiece, wench. You’re the only one who gets to touch it.”

Brienne blushed and put cream in his coffee. “T-thanks.”

“Speaking of hair,” he said casually, putting more butter on their pancakes. “When can I drop by your salon? Meet your friends?” At her surprised look, he grinned again. She was so fucking adorable and clueless. Didn’t she realize he intended to be a part of her life? To be in her life?

“Jaime, about that.” Brienne took a deep breath and he found himself tensing.

But her words surprised him. Gods, she was always going to surprise him, wasn’t she?

“First of all, I am so thankful that you mentioned my salon in the article. It really means a lot. Yesterday, for the first time ever, we were turning away clients. People want the hair. I can’t believe it.” She took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back, loving how she was the color of strawberries. Her throat looked pretty enticing and he was fucking salivating.“It’s because of you why that is. That said. . .”

“That said. . .?”

“There’s another big crowd today. We’re booked until the next month. Will you be okay with a mob?” It was really sweet how concerned she was, her blue eyes blinking rapidly at him, her pulse racing under his thumb. “I would love for my friends to meet you and for you to visit the salon but with madness of people wanting the same haircut. . . “

 “First of all, I’m used to crowds,” he assured her, taking her hand to his lips and kissing it passionately. She smelled of butter and syrup and he indulged in a quick lick of her pinkie. “But since there’s a chance things might get insane, I’m more than happy to put a bag over my head and sneak in the back. We’re not going to let people wanting my haircut stop us, are we?”

Brienne looked at him with a mix of relief and gladness. “Have I told you just how great you are?”

“I confess to enjoying it very much when you _show_ me.”

Ah. Another shade of red. Deeper and pure Brienne. “Jaime,” she whispered, turning away. He was pleased to see a film of sweat on the side of her neck. “For Seven’s sake.”

“And speaking of meeting people in our lives, I’d like to introduce you to Tyrion. I’ve been talking his head off about you for months, wench. It’s time he meets the vision that you are.”

“Oh.” She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. But if you want to take some time, that’s alright too. We don’t have to rush anything, wench. After all, I intend to live deep between your legs for quite a while to make up for those five months.” He wanted to laugh as he could practically _hear_ her sweating. “We have to do something about your very tight pussy. I want to fuck you without fearing I’m going to explode the moment I’m inside you.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or embarrassed.”

“Why don’t you spread your legs so we can find out together?”

She suddenly laughed and shook her head. _“Jaime!”_

 He smirked and glanced at the clock behind her. “We have time,” he said in a singsong voice.

“If you want to make a good impression on my friends, it would be a huge help if you don’t make me late!” She exclaimed, squealing when he walked around the table to pull her to her feet. She started to speak again when he pulled her head down and kissed her hard, shoving his tongue deep in her mouth. _Fuck_. She tasted of syrup, toothpaste and _him_.

Her hands climbed up to his shoulders, caressing him and drawing him tighter against her. He could feel her heart thumping heavily against his chest. He was a little out of breath too. Everything was so new and just so fucking irresistible. He had a feeling that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

As their kisses gentled, his mind went back to that night, when he banged on her salon door and yelled at her. That had been the most awful time in his life. He had no idea how that swiftly changed. It was her eyes, he thought, pulling back and watching with quiet amazement as her sapphires slowly opened. From the moment he saw them, his life was never the same.

He supposed that was the only good outcome from the break-up with Cersei. Removed at last from her lying clutches, he could finally see the world as it was—a world where a kind-hearted wench with the most beautiful eyes and the filthiest, sexiest mouth lived and accepted him for who she was. She had asked nothing of him, only that he make the choice to be with her.

“Jaime,” she whispered, holding him tightly against her. He dropped kisses up and down her arm before looking in her eyes. “We’re really doing it, aren’t we?”

He was tempted to make a joke of it, to once again find other words to speak with rather than the ones making his heart burst. But how many more times can he tell her how much he wanted to fuck her when it wasn’t all that he wanted? Not to mention that huge pack of condoms that will be keeping them busy for a long time. Maybe they could make balloons out of the others. After being inside her without any barrier, he didn’t want anything between them again. She had been so wet, he remembered, feeling his knees getting weak. _So wet and insane with lust._

 She looked at him with hope in her eyes and he knew that this was _the_ moment. Every moment with Brienne was always the right one but this was the fork in their road and there was only one way to go. He kissed her on the lips again. _Nothing would be as soft._

“We sure are, Brienne.” His eyes gleamed at the soft, small smile that tentatively touched her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Everything was alright.  


 *****  
Brienne resisted the urge to bury her reddening cheeks against Jaime’s neck as they stood before Margaery, Missandei, Podrick and Sansa. While Jaime gave them a friendly smile and was very content to have her arm wrapped around his waist under his jacket, her friends stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

They entered the salon through the back, to avoid the crowd waiting outside. Jaime had laughed about that but she was really worried about him getting mobbed and possibly hurt. Of course he wasn’t worried about that. He even insisted that they stop for donuts and coffee on the way so her friends would have some breakfast before starting work. No one gave Jaime a second look at the donut place—with a cap pulled low and his worn brown leather jacket and jeans, he pretty much blended right in.

He had removed the cap as they went around the back. Brienne held his hand tightly, deciding that casual was the way to go. Now she was realizing the limits of such a move, given that three very long minutes had passed and her friends looked like they were not breathing. At all.

To her surprise, he suddenly turned her toward him to kiss her. It was a light peck on the lips but it was enough to make her stagger as he let go and proceeded to put the box of donuts and bag of warm coffee on the table. As she stared at him with her jaw heading to the floor, knowing smiles suddenly spread across her friends’ faces.

“It’s fucking cold out there. We thought you might like something warm and sweet,” Jaime told them, taking out the cups from the bag. He read aloud the names written on them. “Hmm. Cappuccino for Sansa, decaf, non-fat no sugar for Margaery, double espresso for Missandei and. . .machiatto for Pod.” He grinned at them and flipped open the box, revealing a dozen varieties of chocolate donuts. “Help yourselves, guys.”

It was probably the magic word because everyone dove towards the table and started talking loudly. Margaery was the first to shake Jaime’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Your hair looks great—of course, it’s by Brienne.” She squinted. “But you look like you could use a trim soon.”

Jaime ran his hand through his hair. “Well, no better place than here to get it done.”

“This is really nice, Jaime.” Pod said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Thanks for mentioning Evenstar in the magazine.”

“No problem. There’s good work done here and you guys deserve more credit,” he said, turning to wink at Brienne. She smiled, hoping she wasn’t blushing so hard.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet you. We had to pull it out from Brienne how the haircut happened,” Missandei said with a mysterious smile at Brienne.

“Well, hopefully she didn’t get too detailed although _I_ will not mind,” Jaime said. This time Missandei blushed and ducked her head. Brienne wanted to be swallowed up in the floor.

Brienne watched as Jaime sat on the chair at the table and the others joined him. Sansa had yet to speak a single word, obviously stars-struck and trying to do her best to be cool. Pod asked if it was okay to take a selfie and Jaime gamely posed. Missandei, who was originally from Naath, asked Jaime about his recent shoot there.

He stayed for ten minutes, chatting with them and even joking. Brienne couldn’t believe it. She stood leaning against the sink, sipping her second cup of coffee for the day when Jaime turned and looked at her lingeringly from head to toe, the expression on his face broadcasting exactly what he intended to do her and why she was going to fucking like it. She blushed violently, which didn’t escape Margaery’s alert eyes. She joined her friend by the sink and whispered, “I swear to the Seven if I wasn’t pregnant right now, that look will knock me up.”

“Sssh,” Brienne hissed, turning away and pretending to fix the plates on the rack next to the sink.

“He seems a good guy,” Margaery patted her on the arm, catching on quick that as delighted as she was, she was still easy to embarrass with public displays of affection.

“I—I think he’s one of the best,” she replied, hoping desperately she would stop blushing.

“Well, darling, just as long he doesn’t break your heart, I’ll think that too. But really, Brienne. I swear if I was straight, I’d be on my back right this very second.”

“Marge, should I tell Yara she’s not fucking you enough?”

“She fucks me plenty and very well, thank you very much.” Margaery said, grinning happily. “My wife knows how to use her tongue.”

“Gods.” Brienne whispered, hiding her apple-red face in her hands. Margaery giggled.

“Something tells me Yara and Jaime could exchange tips.”

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?” Brienne grumbled, scowling at her. Margaery’s smile widened and she touched her on the cheek.

“Darling, I’m just happy for you. I’m glad there’s someone besides us who sees you for the treasure you are. And able to appreciate it in ways we can’t.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Brienne couldn’t help but laugh. Jaime turned to look at her and smiled.

“You look happy. I love you, Bree.” Margaery pulled her head down and kissed her on the cheek. “You deserve only the most wonderful things.”

“Thanks, Marge.” Brienne held her hand and squeezed it. “You’re a rock. My rock. Don’t you ever forget.”

Soon, Jaime was saying goodbye to her friends. Brienne linked her arm through his as she walked him to the back. “Walk me to the car?” He asked and she nodded.

They stepped out into the alley and she closed the door behind them. Three seconds later, shouts rang from behind the door. Brienne covered her mouth in mortification as Jaime threw his head back, chuckling.

“Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. I thought they were doing well keeping it cool,” she said as she leaned against the brick wall, blushing wildly.

“It’s alright. You get used to it.” He assured her with a grin. He glanced at the end of the alley. “My car’s here.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” she told him. But as she was speaking, he pushed her coat open. “W-What are you doing?”

Hot emerald eyes bored hard into her. “What do you think?”

She froze as he unbuttoned her shirt. Under her camisole, her nipples hardened from the chilly air. She stared at him, both shocked and turned on as he worked on her belt next and yanked her panties and jeans down to her knees. “We’re in public---” she gasped just before his mouth fell on hers and his hands squeezed her breasts, tugging at the neckline of her camisole to bare them. He ground his hips against her, his erection pressing determinedly against her pussy.

“I couldn’t keep it cool,” he told her, scooping her hips from the wall as his warm mouth wrapped around her tight nipple. She squeaked then quickly covered her mouth, reminded of the car and her friends just behind the door.

As they kissed and gasped, she blindly reached for the zipper of his jeans, pulling down the layers  before his cock was on her palm. Their lips remained fused as she guided him inside her. It was awkward and challenging spreading her legs because her jeans were still around them but she managed. She gasped, her head slamming against the wall as he fucked her without mercy, pounding into her pussy still sore and sensitive from their reunion last night and early this morning. _But she was soaked._ Over the sounds of traffic, of steel doors going up, people chatting as they walked to work, was the unmistakable wet squeaks of her pussy being fucked hard. Her fingernails dug against the soft leather of his jacket. She whined in passion as his teeth clamped on her lower lip and sucked.

She was quick to come, biting him on the shoulder to muffle her shriek, her pussy rippling violently around him. He slammed his palm on the wall next to her ear as he gasped, pouring his semen into her. Their eyes seemed to match, blue and green going nearly black with lust as their pupils overtook the jewel-colored pools. Her grip on his jacket softened as they fell against the wall. She yelped as her ass pressed against the cold brick wall and he quickly palmed them protectively.

“You’re unbelievable,” she thought she sounded a little drunk. She tried to look at the car. "What if someone saw us?"

He kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Hopefully, they learned some acrobatics. This is five months without fucking you, wench. You think I give a fuck if a parade watches me fuck you?”

She blushed and he kissed her again.

They pulled up their pants—but Jaime didn’t let her zip hers closed. Not for a while. He was clearly enjoying her deepening blush as he kept her pressed against the wall, the loosened neckline of her camisole barely covering her breasts, his hand cupped possessively on her pussy, his middle finger burrowed deep inside and fucking her wickedly.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” She said weakly, her head resting heavily against the wall, her soft breathing speeding up. He yanked at her camisole and pulled her nipple halfway into his mouth. She groaned as he released the swollen nub.

“I can’t,” he admitted, a thumb tormenting her clit. He nibbled on her lip. _“I don’t want to.”_

She clenched around his finger as she felt her orgasm building up.

“Are you free tonight?” He asked casually. As if there was nothing out of the ordinary being in an alley in the bright light of day, his finger thrusting in and out of her pussy.

“Oh, gods. What are you going to do to me tonight?’ She asked breathlessly, managing to make a joke.

“More of this.” His finger curled deep inside her and she cried out, this time unable to stop herself. “Also, dinner. I was thinking of taking you to Chez Papillon--”

Her eyes widened. Only important people went to Chez Papillon. And you had to make a reservation months ahead.

“Then I’ll pretend to show you around my place before fucking your brains out.” As she blushed, he licked her lewdly from cheek to the side of her neck. “We have a huge pack of Kingslayers to finish, wench.”

“We didn’t use one again,” she mumbled.

She expected Jaime to pull out his finger. Instead, a second one joined inside. Together, they fucked her with fury. She wailed his name before biting on his leather jacket. Her leg hitched around his hip.

“I’m ready for all the inevitables awaiting us, wench.” He whispered. “Except one where I’m not with you. Everything else. Just not without you.”

His mouth wrapped around hers just as she screamed in pleasure.  


*****

**Two years later**

“Jaime,” Brienne growled above his head. “Will you fucking keep still? I swear, this hair job shouldn’t take me ten minutes. I’ve been working on it for thirty fucking minutes!”

He laughed, unbothered by her display of temper. She hissed and continued ruffling his hair with conditioning gel.

Their bedroom, was the place where Jaime was getting ready for his latest movie premier, rather than a hotel. A hotel was closer and more convenient but that meant packing up stuff and there were always things you forgot. At least in their home, everything was there. He played with the neckline of her robe, gently nudging it to the side to bare the sweet, full swell of a freckled breast with a deliciously engorged red nipple.

“Quit bothering with my hair, wench,” he told her, loving how her hands suddenly faltered and her breathing hitched. Knowing he was on the right track, he opened her robe. _Ah._ Full, milk-swollen breasts jiggled before his eyes. His hand was gentle in tracing the soft, sexy curve of her stomach. His own breath was a little unsteady as he felt the familiar but always welcome flutter of their baby against his palm. Brienne let out a breath, and he caught a sweet smile on her face as she pressed his hand more firmly against that spot.

“They think their father should stop making their mother’s job harder,” she scolded him playfully. While she kept his hand on her belly, the other stroked his hair, caressed the back of his shoulder.

“They think their parents should take a break and fuck,” he said, grinning up at her. She blushed cherry-red as she scowled at him.

“Besides, wench, my hair is going to get rumpled anyway. I’d rather it comes from actually fucking you instead of it looking like it came from fucking you.”

She laughed and shook her head, hugging him to her breasts. He kissed a nipple softly. “You are always outrageous, you know that?” She whispered, kissing him along his hairline.

“You love me outrageous and many other things that make you blush, stammer, and very wet,” he said, tilting his head up so she would kiss him on the lips. She laughed again softly before they kissed. He pushed past her robe to squeeze her buttocks, now wonderfully round and heavy, before drifting to her front to stroke the silky-soft hairs of her pussy. Just to back up his theory with expected proof, his hand lowered even more and met the warm slickness coating her soft, inner thighs.

“We’re going to be late for your premiere,” she reminded him, shyly biting him on the lower lip as he played with her clit. Dear gods. It was fucking swollen and so stiff. She gasped.

“Fuck the premiere,” he murmured through their kiss. Then he reluctantly pulled his hand away from her pussy as he got to his feet. He removed her robe before his. Taking her by the hand, he gently pulled her to bed.

He helped Brienne lie on her side. She was six months pregnant already and in her own words, “the size of a fucking medieval castle.” She was carrying twins, both boys. Yes, she was massive but absolutely breathtaking and fucking beautiful, at least to Jaime’s eyes. There was an almost-golden sheen to her hair, which was now thick and soft from the pregnancy. She had grown her pixie to a shoulder-grazing bob. The hard angles of her body had given way to ripe curves that was a _fucking struggle_ to not fondle.

Pressed against her back, he kissed the deep arc between her neck and shoulder as he played with her heavy breasts. She smelled and tasted like caramels and summer, and her pale skin got more freckled as she progressed through the pregnancy. His cock eagerly pointed towards her ass, seeking the entrance between the cleft but it was not where he wanted to go. Not yet. He wanted to spend the next hour kissing and caressing his wife, and making her come over and over again. Had he known that being pregnant would have Brienne hitting her orgasm faster and at more frequent intervals, he would have knocked her up earlier.

Her pregnancy surprised them but it was something they were ready for. They didn’t get to finish the jumbo pack of Kingslayers. Once they fucked without anything between them, it was hard to reintroduce even just the thinnest layer of latex. Brienne got on the Pill but like all birth controls, it was not one hundred percent effective.

He was the first to suspect she was pregnant. Brienne had very plump and puffy nipples but she was flat as a board. Her breasts got rounder as her period approached but there was something different. They had felt heavier and she confessed to a strange tenderness in her nipples. He had smiled and was more than happy to indulge her when she revealed that only his kisses relieved the soreness. Plus, he enjoyed how fast she came, pouring and staining her panties, the sheets.

She clearly thought nothing odd was happening but he made a mental note of the symptoms.

She was the one to unwittingly confirm his suspicions. Her pussy tasted sweeter and she smelled so fucking good. He took her to a quick weekend getaway where he pretty much kept his tongue inside her the whole time. He didn’t want to jump the gun yet, however. It took another two weeks before she told him.

He had to mine every ounce of self-control he had to not kiss her senseless after she told him. He managed to hug her tightly and whisper that he loved her so much before taking her to bed. He fucked her the whole night and the next morning, told her that he suspected. Dear gods, how she blushed and laughed at his graphic description of her bodily signs. He fell harder and deeper in love with her. Then she reached up to touch him on the cheek, and he kissed her hand, his lips lingering on the ring finger that held a two-carat cushion cat sapphire ring that she had been wearing in the last four months.

Brienne turned her head to kiss him and he eagerly captured her pillowy mouth. Her ardent kisses suddenly softened and he opened his eyes to see her frowning at their reflection on the mirror above. He smirked and settled back on the bed, glancing up while he kept his arms around her waist.

“There’s no changing your mind about that mirror, is there?” She asked but she sounded both resigned and amused.

He tucked his hand between her legs, pleased to find her _drenched._  He gently swept her open for his finger to push carefully inside her pussy. She gasped and melted against him, her hand rising to tug at his hair.

“When we fuck, we always look at each other,” he reminded her, kissing her gently on the cheek.

“Jaime, you are so unbelievable all the time, but I just love you more and more,” she whispered, her pussy getting wetter with every slide of his finger inside.

 He bit playfully on the tip of the ear. He liked looking at her when they fucked. Her pregnancy limited their positions but he really hated not having her eyes on him. Thus, the mirror on the ceiling and another built into their headboard. Brienne was too self-conscious of her size was when on top of him and the only position she was comfortable in was on all fours. She assured him it didn’t bring her bad memories—that it was next to impossible to think of anything bad when he was fucking her. Or even when she was just with him.

His palm was wet and his breathed in the strange, head-spinning scent rising from her pussy. “Fuck me, please,” she begged him, moving desperately against him. He kissed her on the neck and helped her get on all fours. Through the mirror on their headboard, their eyes met as he pushed his cock inside her.

He had to be gentle but it was so fucking worth it. He loved the new plumpness of her ass, the jiggle in the back of her thighs. He cupped her breasts from behind and gave a little pinch to her nipples. She gasped his name her milk began to drip from her nipples. He fucked her, his cock so fucking hard and his balls so tight and heavy he couldn’t see straight. Only pale-gold hair, freckles. The flash of sapphire eyes on the mirror.

 _“Jaime!”_ Brienne shouted, her head falling forward as she came. He caressed down her spine, his thrusts speeding up as her pussy rippled around him. It didn’t take him long to follow, his head falling back from the force of his orgasm.

She panted under him, rolling to her side, sweaty and red-faced. He fell behind her, his arm protective around her belly. Her side of the bed was moist and sticky and he smiled against her nape. “Do you want me to help you up, wench?” he asked, his mouth already watering at the treat waiting for him. Them.

“Please,” she said with groan. He gently turned her head so they could kiss on the lips then he helped her up, piling pillows for her to rest on. Her smile just about killed him. Just about. If it did, he’d fucking do everything he could to return to this moment and enjoy the milk pouring for her breasts.

Her breasts were so round and so fucking full. Blue veins decorated the pale flesh. Milk dripped from her swollen nipples. Leaking breasts was one of downsides of a pregnancy, according to their doctor. Jaime didn’t see what was so wrong with that. It made Brienne grumpy and embarrassed her because it could happen from out of nowhere. But when he was around to enjoy the treat, she was relieved.

“Can you imagine if this happened at the premiere?” Jaime teased, lowering his head to suckle from her nipple. _Fuck._ She was sweet. She moaned, her fingers moving through his hair.

“There is wisdom to wanting to fuck first before leaving,” she said dreamily, arching a little toward his mouth. His cheek hollowed as he sucked the milk. He released the nipple with a loud pop.

“Hells, wench. Six months and you have tits straight out of _Westeros Chicks_ ,” he teased her before resuming taking her milk. Gods. There was no place else he’d rather be. His hand lowered to her stomach and their babies were moving again.

She slapped him on the head. “Mine are real!”

“Oh, fucking yeah,” he agreed before taking her other nipple. He was immune to pain as long as he was kissing her. Or in this case, sucking from her nipple. “You’re delicious, wench.”

He drew hard from her nipple, flooding his mouth with milk. She suddenly cried out, yanking at his hair and her leg curving up. A familiar, squirting sound came from between her legs and he smiled against her breasts. When he raised his head, she was blushing furiously.

“Gods. If I’m not leaking or gassy I. . .squirt.” She muttered.

“I think it’s all lovely,” he assured her sincerely. Her blue eyes shone in gratitude and he kissed her gently on the lips.

Their appetites abated for the moment, he helped her out of bed. He pulled some sheets of tissue from the box on the vanity and wiped her pussy and her thighs clean. Then he went to their closet, taking their clothes which were already hung out and ready to be plucked off. He grabbed underwear from the drawers and returned to Brienne, who was clutching the blanket around her body, her hair all mussed and looking so sweetly well-fucked.

First, he got down on one knee and helped her put on her underwear. It was a kind of intimacy that still made her blush but he knew she appreciated it. He pulled it up before settling it firmly across her hips. He handed her a maternity bra and she quickly put it on.

She was huge, he had to admit, risking a glance at his wench and hoping he didn’t come all over the expensive carpet from Braavos. _Huge but so fucking ripe._ Maybe it was love or the perpetual horniness he felt around his fiancée but Brienne was a _fuckingly_ sexy pregnant woman. She radiated with strength and also softness. He smiled at her as she turned to get her dress. He helped her put it on too.

It was a bright blue dress with a deep, plunging neckline, peek-a-boo sleeves and an asymmetrical hemline. Her naturally pink cheeks meant she didn’t need blusher or even the slightest trace of make-up. She was fucking radiant and honestly, it was hard for him to look away from her. She caught the admiration in his gaze and she bowed her head before asking if she could help him get dressed too.

“Thanks, wench. But if you do that, we’re never going to make it to the premiere,” he told her, grinning. She flushed and sat on the bed.

“We don’t want that to happen. Tyrion will kill you,” she said. She kissed him on the lips. “I’ll just go find a purse to go with the dress.”

“Hurry back,” he told her.

As he got dressed, he heard her phone ring. She went out of their closet to pick up her phone, murmuring, “Margaery,” before she returned to the closet to hunt for the purse. He should remind her about shoes too, realizing that she was still barefoot.

Brienne was now his hairstylist but she still owned Evenstar Hair. Due to the trips that he had to take with his job, she had to join him too. This was a problem at first because the running and operation of the salon rested solely on her.

Thanks to the popularity of his haircut, Brienne made more than enough money to even open another branch of the salon. He also made an investment—small, she had insisted when he complained he could put in so much more than she wanted. She used the profits to settle the outstanding loans she had with the bank in putting up Evenstar Hair. She also used that money to start promotions from within the salon. She made the first offer to Margaery, telling her she would pay for night school so she could learn accounting and management.

Margaery appreciated the offer but her baby was just beginning to walk. With Yara working two jobs, going to school meant she would have less time with their daughter, Taena. So, Brienne made the offer to Missandei, who happily accepted it. Aside from sponsoring Missandei, she also gave all her employees a raise. It wasn’t enough to keep Sansa on, however, who took an assistant job in a fancy law firm. Brienne hired a new receptionist, Talisa Maegyr.

When Brienne was not traveling with Jaime, she would go to Evenstar, not just to check on things but to also cut hair. Missandei was a very capable assistant manager and Brienne was already thinking of making her manager should she open another branch within three years.

Jaime finished putting on his cufflinks as Brienne rejoined him, a dainty gold purse in her hand and a pair of low-heeled, shiny gold wedges in the other. She sat down on a chair and he surprised her by quickly getting on his knees, taking her foot and putting on her shoe. He felt his cock twitch under his pants as she gave him _that_ look.

“How do you feel about leaving right after the movie?” He asked, carefully arranging the straps around her foot.

“Jaime, you have to circulate,” she reminded him. “I can go home ahead should I want to.”

“I know, I know. But it’s such a fucking bore,” he said, taking her other foot and sliding the shoe on it. “I’d much rather go home as soon as possible and feel our sons move again.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s fun for you that I won’t be getting much sleep,” she said, shaking her head and giggling. “How about this. We stay for a little while after the premiere. Jaime, Jaime—” she said, talking over him as he tried to speak. “I think it’s wonderful that you want us to go home right away so we can spend time together. You are so, so, wonderful and amazing. But I promise, as soon as my feet can’t take it anymore, we’re getting out of there.”

“Even if I’m talking to the head of the studio. You promise me that won’t stop you,” he said.

“I promise, my love.”

He helped her up. She was much taller than him in her shoes. “I guess I just can’t wait for this to be over and done with,” he admitted, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’ll be out of the limelight for quite a while, wench.”

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she said, bringing his hand to her belly. She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe how nice that feels.”

“There.” He said softly. He smiled as she turned pink. “That’s why I can’t wait for this night to be over.”

They had been engaged for less than a year but with the box-office successes of his movies, studios and directors were desperate to have him. Now more than ever. For most actors, it was insane to suddenly hit the brakes. Not for Jaime.

If he said yes to even just one of those movies, that meant he and Brienne would be engaged much longer than he preferred. He didn’t believe in long engagements. And if he said yes to one, he’ll have to say yes to the next, and the one after that. And the one after that.

He had earned the right to turn away from the klieg lights for as long he wanted. It had taken so much of him already and right now, he wanted to give himself to the woman he loved more than life itself.

Despite being pregnant, the wedding was still on. Brienne wanted to hit city hall and be done with it. Jaime saw the sense in it but he wanted something more festive. Small, yet festive. But even a wedding of less than a hundred guests took work. Still, it was going to happen before the twins were born. In that respect, Jaime was a little old-fashioned. He had no regrets knocking up his sapphire wench before marrying her but their sons were going to be Lannisters before they were born.

And after the wedding, he just wanted to be with Brienne and their children. Wake up at two in the morning to change nappies, or dance one of the babies to sleep while humming ‘Afternoon Delight.’ Fuck Brienne and get lost in her beautiful eyes. Raise their children, whom he hoped would have their mother’s sapphires and heart. Cuddle with their babies in their king-sized bed when it got cold. Or even when it wasn’t. Wake up to Brienne’s shy kisses trailing down his stomach before her lips claimed his cock and drew him deep down her throat.

“As long as you’re sure,” she said, holding his hand. “I am with you no matter what, Jaime. I love you.”

“I know,” he said, fluffing her hair. “I love you too, wench.”

She helped him put on his jacket and straightened the slim, black tie he was wearing. They held hands as they walked down the stairs.

He had sold the house he shared with Cersei and used the money to buy something that was more modest yet also as spacious. Their house didn’t have separate wings but there was more than enough room for a dozen Lannister children, should they have them. And because he and Brienne had collaborated closely with the designer, the décor reflected their tastes rather than something imposed on them. Their house could easily be imposing due to its size but cozy furniture and warm colors made it homey and well lived-in. Jaime hated leaving but work, at least for now, was calling and it couldn’t be ignored.

They picked up Tyrion on the way to the theater. Tyrion kept Brienne laughing with jokes and commentaries about Jaime’s vain co-stars—and also about his own brother. He stroked Brienne’s knee and she rewarded him with her endearing smile.

The limousine slowed down as it approached the theater. Paparazzi and fans crowded the red carpet. Security was burly men in dark suits and earpieces who firmly reminded people to stay behind the velvet ropes. Tyrion, looking out the window, then turned to them.

“Alright, kids. We’re here.”

Brienne took a deep breath and Jaime squeezed her hand. “I won’t be letting this go the entire time, wench.”

He stared at the lights flashing from the cameras and the reporters from entertainment networks already armed with their microphones. When the press got wind of their relationship during the early stages, they were brutal in comparing Brienne to Cersei, with publications going as far as putting their photos side-by-side. Jaime made it clear, through Tyrion, who went on to make it known through the right channels, that any criticism against Brienne would mean a permanent ban on the reporter and his or her affiliated media. He will not be able to protect her all the time but he was going to fucking try. What was the point of being the highest-paid actor if he couldn’t protect his wench?

“I know,” she reassured him. She looked past his shoulder to the crowd outside of the car. “I’m ready, Jaime.”

“Why don’t I run interference first,” Tyrion said. He winked at Brienne. “You’ve got this, Brienne.”

“You’re sweet, Tyrion. Thanks.”

The door was opened and Tyrion was the first one to slip out. He stared at the paparazzi arrogantly, unsmilingly, making full use of his pinched, unattractive features to intimidate everyone thinking of provoking Jaime or Brienne. Jaime wanted to kiss his brother for that.

“What about it, wench?” He asked.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” she said, smiling at him.

The door opened again and Jaime stepped out. He smirked at the crowd shouting his name before turning to help Brienne out of the car. He wrapped his arm around her waist, grinning as she held up a hand to protect her eyes from the flashing cameras.

“How are you not fucking blind from this?” She demanded amidst the voices screaming for Jaime. He burst out laughing and kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you.”

Reporters were quick to record the moment on paper, as well as the cameras. Photos of Jaime laughing and kissing Brienne ruled the front pages of even major newspapers and their exchange lorded over news outlets and was shared on social media for a week. Except for a few trolls in the comments who really had nothing nice nor intelligent to say, the world was collectively gushing over the devastatingly handsome Jaime Lannister’s clear devotion to the plain-faced Brienne Tarth.

And in cities in Westeros and beyond, even in the quietest corners of the world that nevertheless saw the video and the photos, hairstylists woke up with more hope and verve, threw themselves to work harder.

There was a one in a million chance of experiencing the story of Jaime and Brienne but maybe, just maybe, the chances would increase for just this lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the dress Brienne wears:
> 
> http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2017/11/26/05/46B3F4FE00000578-5117905-_She_felt_different_Speaking_to_Sunday_Life_the_39_year_old_said-a-4_1511672853187.jpg
> 
> Jaime's suit:  
> https://moststylish.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/nikolaj-coster-waldau-suitii.jpg
> 
> The movie that Jaime shoots in Naath is a historical action drama. He plays a character from this Old Valyrian family:  
> http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Velaryon

**Author's Note:**

> I went to SeleneU for help about this one. I love Jaime's Season Two/Three hair and wanted to write a story about it. Then I imagined Brienne cutting his hair and. . .the idea just flatlined. I asked SeleneU for help about a story for this situation and, as always, she delivered! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the coming chapters!


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